


Let's Play A Game

by Moonlessmondays



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Games, Sex Games, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 73,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlessmondays/pseuds/Moonlessmondays
Summary: In which an Outlaw and a Queen play a game and the Queen looses. And the price she pays might be more than what she bargained for. (Set in the Missing Year).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting this here. All disclaimers apply. And please remember that this is a crack fic. You will find the complete uploaded version on my ff.net: Moonlessmondays

**Chapter One**

It has started with a stupid drinking game—one that she should have never partaken with that stupid thief.

It is easy enough at first: drink whenever Snow would say the word  _hope_ , or when Snow tries to be exhaustingly optimistic, or when the Charmings are being sickeningly sweet towards one another. That night, when they have first tried it, they have both gotten so pissed that she had ended up in the supply closet when she had tried to transport herself with magic, and he had crawled his way to his bedchambers only to end up to the other side of the castle—passed out face first when John had found him.

Needless to say, it had been a tie between them.

It had then set off a series of challenges, little bets here and there, nothing big, nothing in exchange, just the bragging rights of winning over the other. Sometimes, it's a not so friendly competition of archery (where she's surprised him by her ability to actually shoot those damned arrows, and she hasn't even used magic), sometimes just another one of their drinking games (a drink whenever Little John is not able to restrain himself at the buffet, or every time one of the dwarves say something stupid—which has always made them both drunk as a fish). She enjoys the drinking game, of course, but it has lead to more raunchy things that has her turned on, not that she'd ever admit to it (but who can blame her, when in one of these stupid drinking games his hand ended up in her ass, kneading it or when her own hand ended up on his member, and she felt it growing and growing underneath her palm even through the layers of clothing?).

It turns out, she's a touchy feely, dirty drunk.

The other games are more or less safe though (and by that she only means it has them not ending up in bed together, under tangled sheets and with a fine sheet of sweat on their glowing, slick skin)—there had been a swimming competition once and a game of chess that had lasted for seven hours.

Of course, she takes delight in rubbing it in his face whenever she wins—he is an irritating, smug, prick of a man and he smells of forest (and since when has this particular trait become something so irritating? Since him, she decides). But she makes no secret of her displeasure (as he makes no secret of his smugness) whenever he wins—grumbling and sulking and challenging him in yet another duel, yet another bet.

She would never in a million years admit it to him, but she does enjoy the little games she has with him. It is easy, a diversion, something that occupies her mind when she can't anymore stand the pain in her heart, something that lifts her spirits up and boosts her ego. It never really escapes her how the thief has taken into staring at her (her cleavage in particular, which is why she has been wearing more revealing clothes as of late—to make sure he knows who's winning in this little game) whenever she challenges him. Winning doesn't hurt, as well, of course.

But more than anything, it gives her something to do other than wallow in self pity and drown in pain. It gives her a reason to smile, too, or grouse, whichever becomes of the game. He gives her a reason to continue living day by day (besides having someone to destroy, having someone who was her equal in intellect is a good reason not to just wither and die a slow death), and actually live, and not become an empty shell, a walking dead. He distracts her, and she has to admit he is a worthy opponent.

But this,  _this,_ particular challenge she has just issued on him—this is her forte, this is  _hers_  and she smiles evilly as she thinks of how easy it would be to win against him.

"So, your majesty, are you ready to lose?" he asks her as he mounts a chestnut brown horse that is Charming's. He has a grin on his face and his eyebrow is raised—in question or in amusement, she isn't sure.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she too mounts her own horse—it isn't hers, not her own horse, but it will do. It is these times that she wishes she still has Rocinante, but the thought leads her to a more distressing path so she curbs it away, and instead she looks over at the thief and smiles at him deviously. She  _is_  going to win this game.

"I'm more than ready to kick your ass, Outlaw," she says smugly as she takes position, her fists clenching, and her jaws setting. She hears the outlaw's son, Roland, cheering for her, and it makes her laugh internally. She has gotten closer with the boy, his dimpled smile winning her over faster than she can run. And even when it hurts sometimes to be in his company, even when she misses her own son even more terribly when the dimpled little hobbit is around, she feels an even deeper sense of loss, a deeper aching when he isn't.

"Well, prepare to be disappointed milady," he shoots back, and then he's grinning at her, his dimples showing, throws a wink at her, for good measure as well.

She rolls her eyes in response (never mind the heat pooling in her thighs now just because of one damned wink).

"Alright," Little John says, his voice booming loudly, catching their attention. "At the count of three, alright?" At their simultaneous nod, little John begins to count, "One, two, three," and he's waving his hand.

Both Robin and Regina take off, dusts behind them as they both fly towards the meadow, both egging their horses on, willing them to go faster. Regina takes the lead, and she grins smugly, her hair whipping about as her horse gallops and runs faster and faster. Robin isn't far behind however, and for the next few minutes as they race, they are head to head.

By the second lap (one going to the other end of the meadow, and the other going back to where Roland and little John along with some of the other merry men are), Robin has taken the first place, and Regina is gritting her teeth, because how, just fucking how is she loosing? She's a great rider, she takes pride in that (takes as much pride with it as she does with her prized lasagna), so how the hell is this thief winning over her.

She clucks her tongue and tightens her fist on the reins, giving her horse one pat to make him go faster. She is close, can almost beat Robin, can almost win this goddamn race she ought to win in the first place, only, Robin gets there first, with only a breadth, a hair of a difference in their time.

Robin chuckles, his chest puffing out arrogantly as he dismounts his horse. Roland is laughing as he dashes to his father, crashing onto his leg.

"You won, Papa!" Roland says happily.

"I sure did, son," Robin says, throwing Regina a look that says it all, making Regina huff in annoyance.

"You cheated," she accuses, her eyes narrowing on him as she, too, dismounts her horse. She lets one of Robin's merry men take the horse back to the stables along with Charming's horse, and she walks toward where the Locksley men are, her face scrunching, disapproving. She can't believe she lost that one. "It's the only way you could have one against me."

Robin only laughs. "I won that one fair and square, milady," he tells her. He bends down and hefts his son on his hip, and she tries so hard not to stare at his bulging pectorals—because damnit, now is not the time.

"I still say you cheated," she repeats, her arms crossing against her chest as she frowns.

"I think you were great, R'gina," Roland pipes up, ever affectionate with his queen, ever wanting her to smile—and his comment does just that, and she's smiling at him, her index finger tapping his little nose lightly.

"Thank you, my knight," she says, grinning at him, reaching out to kiss his cheek before he's squirming in his father's arms, wanting to be put down so he can go and play with little John.

Both watch until Roland, little John and the rest of the merry men disappear from the view and all that's left is them standing there, just right outside the entrance of the castle, but never out of her protective enchantment bubble. Regina is frowning whilst Robin is grinning.

"So, how about a payment, milady," he asks as he looks at her, making her frown deepen.

"What payment?" she asks him. "We didn't talk about any payment."

"Ah, but it's a bet, is it not?" he taunts. "And, besides, it's only fair since you had me streaking down the forest buck naked the last time we had a bet and you won. You even too k my clothes from where I hid them and I had to take the biggest walk of shame created on earth as I had to traipse across the great hall where half my men are covered in nothing but a leaf, Regina."

She rolls her eyes at him, exasperated. But he does have a point. "What do you want?" she asks. She knows that it is not and won't be any material thing, Robin isn't like that, which only scares her more because whatever it is, it's not going to be good.

Robin only grins and pulls her to him by the waist, his head falling to the crook of her neck, nuzzling the fragrant skin her finds there. His teeth nip at her then, making her gasp, a rush of heat settling low in her belly. It makes her want to moan, but she suppresses it, instead, she pushes at his shoulder.

"What is it that you want, thief?" she repeats, even as her breathing comes in labored gasps now, and her skin is warming up, and she knows she's somehow flustered, is sure of it because of that damned smirk in his face.

"I want  _you_ , milady," he tells her without preamble, "all of you."

"You have got to be kidding me," she exclaims, her jaw dropping indignantly (not gracefully, she realizes, but how dare he?). "Losing a bet does not equate to sex! I'm not a sex toy."

He frowns, his arms tightening around her waist as she struggles against him. "Not a sex toy, Regina. Never a sex toy, never a toy of any sort," he tells her, and he pulls away from her long enough to let her see his eyes, let her see how sincere he is (because even when he can't tell her, out of fear that she might run away, he has feelings for her, feelings that has long since transcended the lust stage). He knows how much she's struggled over the years, over a marriage that's been forced upon her, with a man who she did not even love. He knows it's a delicate subject, knows he must tread lightly, because this is not like that for him—it isn't about owning her or being able to say that he banged the queen. It's about Regina, and finally, finally letting her feel and know how much she's truly worth. Underhanded his tactics may be, all he wants is for her to know how truly beautiful she is, because he doesn't think she believes it. If he only has one chance, one shot at making love with her, then he's going to grab it, he's going to make love to her—he's going to show her, even just once, that she's more than just the evil queen who killed without second thought, more than just the broken Regina who lost so much. She's Regina Mills, the survivor, the woman whose strength carries her through even when she's broken.

But he knows, as well, that she's not really the one to  _talk_  about feelings. She runs away from emotions because she feels too much, hurts too much, loves too much. And to her, it's better to not feel at all.

"Think of it as easing the tension," he continues, waggling his eyebrows and once again grinning at her. This way, he doesn't scare her off.

She shakes her head. "What tension," she asks, clearly in denial (because never in a million years will she ever admit to him that she is attracted to him, that she wants to feel that scruff rubbing against the apex of her things, wants to make him put that sharp tongue to a better use than yapping). "There is no tension." She shifts her eyes away from him and once more, in a valiant but futile effort, tries to free herself.

He raises his eyebrow at her.

"I don't want to sleep with you!" she cries out, and she knows she's damn well lying about it, because she does, she fucking does, she just doesn't want the ramifications of her sleeping with him. It's one thing to sleep with someone you're attracted to, somehow, she thinks it's another to sleep with your  _soul mate._  There is no way on heaven or on earth that they would be able to walk away from each other, from it, unscathed. "I feel nothing."

"Don't even try to deny it, Regina," he whispers against her skin, his arms tightening still. His voice is low and husky. He presses his hips against hers. "Don't tell me you don't feel that."

The gasp that escapes her is something she isn't able to control, and she could feel her desire soaking her undergarments even further. And she wishes she can deny it, wishes she can tell him to fuck off, but her mind, her heart and her body tell her that she'd much rather fuck  _him_  instead, and so when his lips press against hers, pulling her in a heady kiss that leaves her gasping, grasping, leaves the world teetering and her senses spinning, she doesn't fight him. Instead, she pushes back just as hard, opening her mouth when his tongue swipes against her lips, moaning when he sucks her tongue in his mouth.

"I'll give you a chance at grace," he pants when he pulls away, but he can never be far from her, and so his forehead only drops against hers, and his arms still hold her against him. She doesn't say anything, only nods once, and so he continues, "I'll lower the price to a full hour of snogging."

And she doesn't know whether or not to be disappointed with this, but she doesn't say anything. Maybe she can still get her head on right and push back the hussy Regina that wants to bone the hell out of this man. Maybe she can still reign in the hormones on parade.

"How about another bet, milady?" he asks then, finally pulling away from her, his arms unwound from her waist (and if she feels the lost of warmth, she doesn't say anything).

"What bet?" she asks hesitantly. "And at what price?"

"Well, we'll play cards, how about that?" he asks, easing her tension a bit, because if he asks her to play a game of archery, she'd have gladly roasted his ass right there. "And well, again, if you win, I'll lower it to a full on snogging, for an hour."

"Mmm-hhmm," she hums as she lets it sink in. "And if I lose?"

"Then you'll be mine, all mine for a full day," he answers nonchalantly as if he just hasn't asked her to be his sex slave for a day.

"WHAT?" she yells, all the prim and proper lessons (that have gotten her a rather spectacular bit of punishments when she was younger and Cora was still alive) flying out the window. She looks at him as if he's deluded, and she thinks that maybe he is, he really is, because does he even understand what the fuck he's just asked her? "You forget that I am still your Queen and you have no right at all to make me your sex toy! Furthermore, I can fry your ass faster than you can say sex, or have you forgotten about the great and terrible evil queen?"

"Not quite evil, not even in this angle," he responds, his heart clenching, because he never wants her to keep thinking that she  _is_  the evil queen. She was, once upon a time, a long time ago. But not anymore, and he is well aware of half the population of the Enchanted Forest thinking that she  _is_ , but really she  _isn't._  She  ** _was_** **.** But now, now, she's just the queen. She's just Regina…the woman who loves her son, the woman who loves  _his_  son—even when she can't even look at him at times.

"You are…" he pauses, searches for the right words, "bold and audacious, but not anymore evil. You are stunning in every way, a woman with a soft spot for children, a mother, a wonderful one at that if the way you care for my son is any indication." He takes her chin between his fingers, lifts her gaze to his from where it's fallen. "You have to stop fighting this Regina."

"Let's just play the damn game, thief," she says instead, a cloud of fury forming over her eyes, running away yet again because it's easier this way, it's less painful.

He sighs, inaudibly, disappointed. He just wants her to find her second chance, with him—no less (but even if it isn't with him, he just wants her to be happy), but he realizes that he needs to keep tearing her walls down, again and again, until they lack the power to rebuild again. He needs to peel her back, lower her shield, one layer at a time.

"Alright," he says, and then he's leading her back inside the castle.

**...**

She is fucked, and quite literally too. She is well and thoroughly fucked, she knows it, he knows it, and his grin is even more irritating now. Why, why, why did she get herself roped into this?

"Well, well, well," he says, his voice full of mirth and she wants to flip him over and dangle him by the foot over a pit of fire. "Look what we have here."

He lays his cards on the table, and it's royal flush, fucking sodding hell, and she thinks he's cheated, but fuck, she's the one who dealt the fucking cards.

So no, he can't have cheated. She is just, somehow, destined to be fucked by one, Robin of Locksley.

She looks at him, panic rising in her chest, not because she thinks he'll hurt her, or hold it over her head, but because she knows something he doesn't, and that is they are soul mates, and if they do this, well, it means more than just a onetime thing, a tryst, or something equally sordid. This is them connecting, being one, and god only knows what that would mean for them.

But he's grinning at her, dimple in full view, and she doesn't know what to say or feel (anger, Regina, anger, she tells herself, be angry, or indignant, be anything but a horny, blushing school girl), so she clamps her mouth shut and stares at him.

He rubs his hand together, villainous, but not quite, never quite, because there is a twinkle in his eye and his smile is broad but kind, jovial.

"I guess you're mine for tonight, milady," he tells her as he looks at her as though she's his prey, and she supposes that she is.

Did she mention that she's fucked?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still didnt bother to proofread, sorry.

**Chapter Two**

 

 

Dinner is a tensed affair, with furtive glances, trembling hands, mischievous smiles and piercing stares. He watches her like a hawk the whole time, watches as she plays around with the food around her plate, and he thinks how rotten his timing is—he should have told her about her payment after dinner, she's obviously so tensed she can barely eat, and she's not a good eater as it is, in the first place.

And given what he has planned for tonight, she's going to need her sustenance.

He thinks of her accusations earlier today, of him using her, of him making her a sex toy. And given what he knows of her life (what little of it he knows—those that has slipped from their drunken games of truth or dare), he knows that her accusations, her doubts, are not unfounded. She  _has_  been used by men, and women alike, to save their purpose. Her mother has used Regina's beauty and kindness to get her daughter to be queen, Rumplestiltskin has used her magic and vulnerability to create his own monster, and that shit of a man, Leopold, has used Regina's beauty and body for his own pleasure. There are many other people, he's sure, that has taken advantage of her, that has taken without giving back, chipping away at her and her soul until there was nothing left for herself and she's nothing more than a broken shell, holding on to her anger and grief to keep living, to still have a purpose to live.

Maybe that's why she's tried so hard to hunt Snow down, granted, Snow has had a lot of help, but there have been times in the past that it surely would have been easy for the Queen to kill Snow—but the chase and the desire to torture the other woman and make her life as miserable as Regina's had been—that has kept the Queen going.

She is used, so used, to people using her. And considering what he's asking for her now, it's not a big surprise that she would think that he's in this for her body, to have her, and claim that he's once owned her body, even for a night. And though he is only a man, and Regina is more than just a woman—she is a goddess, literally sex on legs if he ever saw one, and it's really, really, just a wonderful thing to look forward to the chance that he may finally get to taste the cleavage she displays so proudly on a daily basis to taunt him and it's no secret how much he admires that body, he's not in this just for  _that._

He doesn't just want to use her for sex, no, that's not it. He wants her to feel—feel something other than sorrow, wants her brain to be muddled by so much pleasure, she'd forget grieving even for just the night. He wants to be the one who shows her that she's worth something, worth better and more than she thinks. He wants to give her pleasure, show her that she deserves it.

**...**

She feels his eyes on her as she picks at her food, moving it around, nibbling at the greens, but the larger portion gets played with. She can feel the intensity of his gaze and it makes her tremble inside (she'd shiver if she's sure he won't gloat, and knowing him, he would—so she barely stops herself from doing so). She doesn't put her head down, however, doesn't let it show that it bothers her, because she is the queen, she is still Regina Mills, and Regina does not  _ever_  back down.

She hears his footfalls as he walks closer to her, feels his body heat when he sidles up next to her, takes the vacant seat beside her. She doesn't give him a glance, not wanting to rouse Snow's suspicion—really, Snow has already been asking and has been very suspicious about them, gossip-monger that she is, but Regina really doesn't want to disclose anything to Snow, not that she has anything to reveal. She doesn't look at the thief, instead she keeps her head up and her expression cool.

"You have to eat," he hisses close to her ear as he angles his body towards her but not quite fully facing her—not wanting to make a big scene out of this, lest it be found out that they're planning a tryst after dinner.

She throws him a nasty side glance, one that has had men backing the fuck off when thrown their way, but of course not her thief (wait, what? since when did he become hers? No, no, Regina. Bad form, she tells herself), he won't be thrown by such a simple look, no matter how murderous it is.

"Do not tell me what to do," she hisses right back, because he really  _can't_  tell her what to do, even if she supposes he will, after dinner, when he takes her, when he has her for the whole night—the thought makes her shiver.

"I'm not," he defends, his voice softer now, no longer commanding, but not placating either. He's simply explaining his side. "I'm only saying that you  _need_  to eat. You don't  _have_ to, if you don't want to, but if you want to last long enough tonight Regina, you're going to need the sustenance."

His words make warm to flush in her belly and for heat to rise to her neck, up to her cheeks, until she's sure that she's red up to her roots. Her breath hitches, and she looks around, looking if someone happens to listen in.

The closest one next to them is one of the seven munchkins—Happy or Sneezy, she doesn't particularly care—and he's at least three chairs over. The one in front of her is Belle and she herself seems to be deep in conversation with Baelfire.

She turns her head again to the outlaw and glares. "Shut your mouth," she says angrily, wanting nothing more than to gladly squeeze the life out of him, but she thinks of Roland, how pitiful it would be if he loses his father—no matter how irritating that father is.

"I'm just saying,  _your majesty_ ," he says, the moniker coming out as sarcastic, and she knows he means it too—knows that he doesn't particularly care about the titles and the labels, only ever calls her in that tone when he thinks she's being particularly difficult. "I'm just saying that you need food in your stomach, because you're going to need your energy." And with that he's vacating his chair and walking away from her before she can even retort.

Regina huffs but cleans her plate, anyway. She's going to show that damned thief.

It doesn't take long for dinner to be over then, but Regina lingers, hides under the pretense of discussing battle plans with the Charmings, even if they are going to go over that in the next meeting, too. She feigns interest even when they are no longer talking of battle plans, but of activity for their people—because frankly, what she thinks their people should do is to be on guard against the witch, not fucking weaving, but she doesn't voice that opinion out loud. She'd tell the delusionals off later, when they bring it up again and she's less tense and more agitated, when she's no longer afraid that is she drops this volleying of conversation (even when it's with these two idiots)—she's going to be heading straight to a red flag that is Robin's arms (and somehow she hopes also his skillful tongue).

Still, she feels his eyes on her and she fights with every cell of her being not to squirm under his intense gaze, knows that he's frowning, his forehead pinched and his eyebrows furrows as his lips purse into a disapproving frown. He wants her to be out of this hall already and into his bedroom (or probably hers, it's more convenient  _and_  secluded), obviously, but she'll be damned if she's going to make this easy for him.

She lets her eyes remain on Snow, once her sworn enemy, now her ally (and she's risking her life to protect the one she's wanted to take for so long, talk about fate), and she can see Snow atwitter with excitement, glowing with happiness. She wonders why, is prepared to ask, but then she feels a hand on the small of her back, light and not even really pressing—just hovering, warm and making every single muscle she knows she has (and the ones she doesn't even know she does) to tingle.

"Isn't it time for your beauty rest, your majesty?" he asks her pointedly as he pulls his hand away, making her inwardly roll her eyes because, yeah, right, she's going to have some good ole beauty  _rest._  "I'll escort you to your bedchambers."

Ah, and so it  _is_  her bedchambers tonight.

She crosses her arms against her chest and glances his way. "I can handle myself thief," she tells him. "If you're tired you can go on and have  _your_  beauty rest. You certainly need it."

Snow frowns at her and shakes her head. "Regina, play nice," she admonishes, as if that really would work on Regina. "He's just trying to be a gentleman."

 _Right, gentleman,_  Regina thinks silently as she clicks her tongue in disagreement. But Robin is grinning, tugging on her arm, and giving Snow a nod.

"Thank you, your highness," he says to Snow, who smiles at him.

"Snow would do," Snow tells him. "No need for formalities."

Robin nods at the princess and then he's turning to Regina, a smile (no, that's a smirk, Regina thinks, a damned annoying side smirk), his hand still gripping her arm.

"Come on, then, Regina," he says, but he's not pulling her, only keeps a firm grip and really, Regina's running out of excuses to not let him all but drag her to her bedroom and let him have his way with her.

"Unlike Snow, I do prefer the formalities," she all but spits out at him, and that has Snow and her idiot husband shaking their head and has Robin looking at her amusedly. Damn him. "It's your majesty," she adds coolly, but he's not affected—damn him, trying in a futile attempt to put him back to his place (because she swears to god if he starts hauling her out this bedroom, she's going to fry him), though it doesn't really work—not anymore—they've gotten too comfortable, too familiar with one another to be offended with such petty things.

Snow's disapproving frown melts into suspicion, and for a moment, Regina tenses. She doesn't want Snow to start asking questions because honestly, she won't even know how to answer them. And she doesn't want Snow to start snooping either. She doesn't want anyone to start wondering about what this is or what they are—even if she thinks that they already have.

"I can walk myself to my chambers, thief," she says coldly as the Charming and Snow walk away to get some refreshments.

The great hall is almost empty save for three or four dwarves, Ruby, Snow and her husband, Regina, Robin and a few other Merry Men. She's planned it this way, stalled and lingered, so she won't have to face him sooner (she probably unconsciously wished that the longer he waits, the more inclined he is to  _not_  ask for her  _payment—_ though it seems to not be that way).

"I don't doubt that, your majesty," he tells her, smirking. "But I'm afraid that you  _won't_  walk to your room at all tonight."

"Why would you think that?" she asks, frigidly, even if they both know that it's the truth.

He raises an eyebrow at her, but doesn't say anything more. He stands beside her, not speaking for a while and it makes her uncomfortable, makes her squirm, and for the first time in perhaps forever, she cannot wait for Snow and David to get back to their side. Though as she looks over to where they are, chatting with Ruby and some of the dwarves left, she knows that it might take a long while before they do, if at all.

"You don't have to be so afraid of me," he says after a while, and she turns to see him looking at her with soft eyes (she hates that, absolutely hates that, she is  _not_ fragile). "I don't want to hurt you."

"I am not afraid of you," she spits at him. Her arms crosses against her chest and her back stiffens, and she hates so much that he's hit the nail right on the head (apparently, he really does  _not_  miss). She  _is_ afraid, of what they are about to do, and of him—not that he would hurt her, of course, he's much too honorable for that, just that she's going to be hurt anyway because of who he is supposed to be in her life. "I just do not relish being made into a sex slave by a thief in my own castle," she continues. The venom in her voice oozes out when she adds, "I've had enough of that with my ex husband."

She regrets the words the moment they fall off her lips, but she can't take them back now. She can feel him looking at her, intensely, knows that he pities her, and she hates that. She doesn't need his pity.

"Don't," she says before he can even open his mouth. She does  _not_  want to hear it.

He raises his hands up in surrender and shakes his head. "Not saying a word," he assures her, and she nods, though stiffly. He looks ashamed, and right, he should.

He sighs, and she thinks it's in defeat, and maybe it's for the best, even if it does make her feel like she's weak, makes her feel like she has not fulfilled her end of the bargain—and truly, she hasn't.

"I'm going to bed now, your Majesty," he says, "please tell Princess Snow and Prince David good night from me."

He doesn't specify which bedroom, and maybe that's for the best. Maybe  _this_  is for the best. She gives him a nod, fairly certain that he won't hold it against her when she so clearly does not want this.

"I'm not holding it against you, your majesty," he says, as if reading her thoughts. "What I asked for, it's way out of line. I'll ask you for something less…well, for something I'm sure you  _can_  do next time." He gives her a grin, warm and understanding, and she's not sure whether to be relieved or angry.

She settles for a nod, and no words slip out of her mouth as he backs away, gives her one last wave, and disappears from her sight.

"Where'd Robin go?" Regina hears Snow ask from behind her after a few moments, and it makes her jump, not having known that the Princess has come to stand next to her. "I thought he was walking you to your bedchambers?"

Regina scoffs, turning around to give Snow a glare. "I can walk myself to my bedchambers, thank you very much," she says coldly, making Snow shake her head in surrender, or possibly exasperation, Regina doesn't really care.

"He was just trying to be nice, Regina," Snow tells her slowly, almost sounding disapproving, as she gives the Queen a pointed look. "The least you can do is let him."

 _He wants to get in my pants,_  she wants to snap at the Princess but she holds her tongue, unwilling to divulge any secret to Snow (even if they'd forgiven each other, has spent many an hour talking about their past, their inability to change it, and their future, of how they might actually have one without trying to have the other's existence wiped out), and most especially not about this.

"He likes you, you know?" Snow continues when Regina doesn't reply. "I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. He likes you. And when you're with Roland, he watches you, looks at you like you hang the moon. And I mean father  _and_  son, this time."

 _Again, he_ **wants** _me,_ Regina wants to say, but she bites her tongue. She is not about to tell Snow that.

She is not about to tell Snow that she's just been challenged by Robin, well, she supposes it's a payment for the challenge she's lost, lest Snow start thinking that this is  _hope_  or her road towards happy ending—because there is no happy ending where there is no Henry.

_Henry._

_"_ It's not wrong to find happiness, Regina, even without Henry there," Snow says and Regina realizes that she doesn't even need to tell Snow of the events that  _would have_  unfolded tonight for Snow to think that  _this—_ the thief and his adorable son—is her road to a happy ending. "It doesn't mean he won't occupy a place in your heart, it doesn't mean you'll forget him. He's your son." And God it feels good, even if it hurts, to hear Snow admit that—that Henry  _is_  hers. "You will always love him, and even if he can't remember, I know in his heart he knows that, and he won't be happy to see you like this."

Her son's name brings a pang to her heart and she squeezes her eyes shut, her fists clenching from where she's dropped them on her side, trying to push back the tears. She won't cry now, not here, and not in front of Snow and all these people. Her grief is hers alone to bear.

"You should go to bed, Regina, it's been a long day," Snow says softly, landing an arm on her shoulder, and giving her a smile when Regina opens her eyes and looks at the younger woman. Snow knows it is more about Henry than exhaustion, it will always be about Henry, but at least she has the tact not to say more than she already has.

Regina gives a small nod, and then she's bidding Snow goodnight, before disappearing into the dark halls of the castle—on her way to her dark, cold, empty bedroom.

**...**

Snow's words linger on Regina's mind, gnawing at her, playing at her emotions and making her heave a sigh after another. She loses her mind in thoughts, her brain conjuring up images of herself and Robin, of how they could be, and she wonders if she's making a mistake. But then the images would shift into them failing, of her hurting, and she shudders, her resolve to put as high a wall possible between them strengthening.

She can't…She cannot possibly let herself be entangled with Robin. Not now. Maybe not ever.

If only it's like what it's been with Graham—coupling, sex that has only meant to scratch an itch. If only she doesn't care about the thief, or his son, if only he isn't her soul mate, then maybe she's taken him up on his stupid bet—God, she might have even been the one to suggest it.

But it isn't. Sex with him entails so many things that she's not prepared to deal with. Sex with Robin isn't just sex, no, it's a connection—of their souls perhaps, and that sounds like a truckload of bullshit meant only for Snow and her idiot husband, but it's true—that fucking pixie dust solidified this…and under normal circumstances, perhaps in the land without magic she'd have tossed the idea and laughed at it—but there is normal circumstances where magic is concerned. Pixie dust never lies…she already feels so strongly about Robin…having him, being with him in the most biblical sense of it…it would only lead her to pain, and quite honestly, she's had enough of pain-still reeling from the last blow life has dealt with her, actually.

**...**

Robin tosses and turns in his bed. He's been holed up in his room for hours now, since he's bid the queen goodnight, but he hasn't been able to sleep. He realizes he's fucked it up with Regina, wonders how much damage he's actually made this time. It isn't his intention to mess up, to badger her about this and scare her away. He's meant it as a means to end the tension, not to push, and the moment she'd say that she doesn't want to, he won't have continued on with it. As it is, he's abandoned the whole idea and reassured her (though he knows what he's done won't reassure her at all) that he won't hold it against her.

He knows that whatever progress he's made with the queen—peeling her layers back, chipping away at her defenses and lowering her walls are now for naught, all put to waste because he's decided to give in to his baser urges. He is sure that now the Queen will once again resurface, and the Regina he's managed to uncover the past few days will hide behind her.

He should have known better, he thinks. That is just bad judgment on his part, to assume that like himself, she'd taken notice of the tension between them, the insane attraction. He must have misread things…he thought she wants this too—and obviously no, she doesn't. He is stupid to think that just because he wants to show her how important she's become to him, she would want to see it, would let him show her.

He never thought that dealing with the attraction they have for each other would be easy, no, not really, but he's never really thought it would be quite _this_  hard. If only neither of them feels the way they do about each other—as unknown as it is for both of them what they really did feel—and if only it is more like a meaningless sex between two drunken fools than a connection of souls, of  _something_ (he doesn't know yet what it is, it's difficult to figure it out as he's never really felt this way before), then it won't be so complicated.

But it isn't like that, it's something more, and so complicated it must be.

Robin sighs, rolls over to his side and grunts. His eyes fall shut and he tries to let sleep overcome him even if he knows that sleep is long forthcoming for him. No chance in hell is he going to get a shut eye, given the circumstances. Not knowing where he stands with the Queen is bad enough to keep him awake, not being sure if he is to be made a toast and served as breakfast to the winged monkeys the next day is even worse.

His mind is filled, preoccupied with thoughts of the said queen—her smile as she talks to his son, her hair freely flowing in the wind, her head thrown back in glee as her horse gallops away as they raced across the grounds earlier today—she is beautiful, so bloody gorgeous—and his mind shifts, the image of her riding the horse now turning to an image of her riding  _him_ , her tits bouncing, and his hands encircling the delicious curve of her hips so tightly his knuckles are turning white as he helps her thrust against him. He imagines her writhing in sheer pleasure, her eyes tightly shut as his name tumbles from her lips—alternating between breathy gasps and throaty moans. His imagined self cups her tits in his hands, rolling the pebbled peak between his thumbs and forefinger before pinching it quite hard, making her breath hitch and a particularly sexy moan to escape her lips…Lord almighty, he might come with just the image of her…and no, god no, this is the wrong image to think about. It's so wrong, so, so wrong, yet it's so right…it feels right to think of her, to imagine himself pleasuring her in all the ways he is sure he can.

"Bloody sodding hell," Robin mutters as his cock starts to ache, the size of his trousers turning two sizes too small for him. His hand falls to his member, but he stops himself…it's one thing to imagine Regina, but it's another to actually get off on a fantasy of her…and he is not about to disrespect her in that regard.

And honestly, he doesn't think it's enough. He needs her, needs her mouth on his penis, and then later, he'll bury himself so deep inside her she'll forget all the lovers she's ever had, she'll forget even her own fucking name. No, no matter how hot, how sexy, fantasy Regina holds not a candle to the real, in the flesh Regina, and God, if he's coming because of her, he wants to come  _inside_  her, and not on his pants at the thought of her.

That won't do at all. And so he crawls out of bed, stumbling on his feet a little as he lands on the ground. He feels his member pushing against the confinement of his trousers and he thanks himself for forgoing anything else underneath because that would just be too damn uncomfortable. He makes his way to the door blindly, intent to let the cold wind outside to calm him the fuck down before he forgets himself and actually hold the deal over Regina's head. He is  _not_  a monster, he would never force her, not the way her  _husband_  had (and god, he wants to throttle that old slime so badly, he'd do anything to bring him back from the dead for the pleasure of killing him once again, Snow White be damned), and so he will  _not_  go to her chambers and do just that.

He stumbles on something, probably Roland's toy, and he curses—not only for the smart sting on his smallest toe, but also because he was so fucking frustrated right now, muttering under his breath. His ire makes him incapable of focusing, and so he doesn't hear the soft knocks against his door—soft and timid. He doesn't hear it, doesn't realize someone's out there until he flings the door open, almost unhinging it with the force he's exerted, and he comes face to face with the queen herself.

"Regina?" he gasps out, the rest of his question all but struck in his throat as he looks down at her and the look in her eyes leaves him speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 

 

His throat feels dry, and his tongue feels heavy, feels like it's gotten a few inches shorter. Her brown eyes bear into his, holding his gaze, and for the life of him, he can't look away—the fire and the determination in them keeping him from doing so. She is all beauty, a goddess, and she knows exactly how to make a man weak in the knees—may it be out of fear or out of lust. She knows exactly which weapon to use on a man, and she uses it with delight and pleasure.

His eyes drop down to her scantily covered breasts, and god, isn't that just  _not_  helping his predicament at the moment? But lord god almighty, he has never seen such perfect breasts, heavens, help him.

"Regina?" he repeats, trying to take his eyes off Regina's chest that is on full display in her white chemise, covered only by her robe (she must have poofed herself to his door, she won't risk walking around the castle looking like the divine goddess that she looks right about now, lest she be seen by someone else other than her intended audience—which from the looks of it, is  _him_ ). "What are you doing here?"

He squints his eyes at her, because even if the castle has a protection spell, courtesy of her majesty herself, there is still a chance that the wicked witch's flying monkeys or she herself would invade the castle. It's far too dangerous, and he doesn't want her to be left unprotected.

She doesn't answer him, instead, she pushes him back towards his bedchambers, pushing the door close with her feet. She grabs the collar of his nightwear and crashes her lips to his.

He doesn't quite know what is happening, his mind is reeling, and he honestly has no idea what has compelled the queen to be standing here in his bedroom, intent on kissing the daylights out of him. He realizes what it could be, what it is supposed to be, but he will gladly live in the bubble of bliss for another five seconds, until she'd pull back and tell him exactly why she is here.

 _She tastes of apples and cinnamon, and a hint of mint, and something alcoholic that he hasn't tasted before—she tastes decadent, delicious, something made out of dreams,_  he thinks idly as her tongue teases his lip, urging him to open his mouth, and when he does, she slips her tongue in and he moans, forgetting all thoughts. God, he is in heaven as her tongue plunders in his mouth, in and out, in and out, mimicking the way in which he'd so longed for his cock to be doing to  _her_. But she is trembling, he can feel it as he holds her to him, pulling her closer, even as his brain tells him to push her away.

He hears her moan quietly as her fists tighten against the fabric of his shirt, and so god help him, because he selfishly doesn't want to, but he has to pull away from her heavenly mouth. He needs to think with the head on his shoulder, not on his cock.

"Regina," he gasps as he pulls his tongue out from her mouth, pushing her away from his body as gently as he possibly could, his hands closing around her shoulders in a tight grip as he holds her in an arm's length away from him.

She looks so confused, yet her eyes are a pool of dark brown, almost black with desire, and her mouth is swollen from his kisses, her cheeks red and flushed from the exertion, and he can honestly say that he has never seen her more beautiful than right now.

"What's wrong, thief?" she asks snidely as she inches closer to him once more. She pulls on his shirt, but he resists, and she scoffs, throwing him a dirty look. "What is the matter with you?"

He shakes his head and puts a good distance between her and himself because if he doesn't, he will end up taking her right there, and no, that is absolutely not where this is supposed to go.

"We can't do this, Regina," he tells her, his voice soft, but the words carry out sternly and precisely. "We shouldn't."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Yeah, just this afternoon you wanted to own me, all of me," and she spits out the words venomously, "and now what? You're telling we shouldn't do this. Make up your damn mind, Robin Hood."

"I have," he says. "And I'm not taking advantage of you like that, milady. I am a thief, but I will not take your virtue away from you, not forcibly, and not out of a bloody bet."

"Aha, a thief with honor," she mocks, taking him back to the time that he's accompanied her down the tunnels, and it makes him smile. She takes notice and throws him a death glare. "What the hell are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," he says. "I'm sorry, milady. I hadn't wanted to…I suppose I wasn't thinking a while ago. We both know that I want you, that much is obvious." His eyes drop down to his member, tenting on his trousers, and she follows his gaze, blushing at the blatant display of his eagerness for her. "But I don't want you to regret this. We're not doing this when you're so clearly deathly afraid, and confused…not when you're trembling like this, no. I don't want you to feel used. You are more than just a conquest, Regina, more than just a bet. I will not take away from you what you clearly aren't ready to give."

She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn't say anything back. Truth be told, she is grateful. She isn't entirely sure she's ready for it, but she needs to hold up her end of the bargain. It is one thing to lose, but she will not duck out of a bet, she will not lose un-gracefully.

"What about the bet?" she asks him as she lets him go. Her trembling has stopped, and she is able to regain her equilibrium  _and_  sanity (not that her losing her mind momentarily had anything to do with his intoxicating hot kisses, no that's not it at all), so she takes a step back, her back hitting the door with a thud.

"It's null and void," he tells her easily, because really, what is that silly bet for anyway? It's nothing, and he's not about to hold it against her. He watches as she opens her mouth in protest, ever so stubborn and he nods. "Alright, fine, how about we snog for an hour straight?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him, mulling over his proposition. Alright, kisses she can handle, that she can give him (not because she actually enjoy his kisses, no, not at all). As long as it's just kissing and not treading onto waters too deep that she'd sink, she's fine.

"Okay, fine," she says, her voice low, as her gaze drops and she bites her lip. She feels his fingers cup her chin and tilts it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. She loses herself in the clear blue eyes staring back at her and her breath hitches, feelings overwhelming her.

"Regina," he says her name, soft like a whisper, his eyes boring into hers as his thumb caresses her skin. She is so soft, so smooth, so beautiful, he can just stare at her forever.

"Robin," she says back, almost like a plea, and before she can release another breath, he is pouncing on her, taking her lips in his, pushing her back slightly that she is now standing on her tiptoes, her back ramrod straight and leaning against the door.

He tastes like mint mixed with the beer he's drunk during dinner, but it's a wonderful combination, as his own unique taste blends in it. His mouth moves against hers, softly at first and then he's swiping his tongue against her upper lip, and then his teeth are nibbling on the lower, making her open her mouth with a soft moan. Her hands come up to tangle with his blonde hair, and distinctly she thinks that this position is uncomfortable, but all thoughts disappear when he sucks her tongue inside his mouth before soothing down his own over hers.

Her right hand pulls his head closer, encouraging him to consume her, devour her if he could, just as one of his hands falls to her derriere, cupping it, kneading it. She needs more, she thinks, needs to feel his girth fill her completely as she throbs where the wetness pools. She wonders briefly why she had not just taken him on his payment,  _whatever_ , maybe now she could feel him thrusting inside her, in and out until she's all tensed nerves, needing and wanting nothing but to explode, and he'd come soon after, her name falling from his lips.

"Regina," he gasps as he pulls away from her. He is hurting now, the length of him throbbing and so very hard it fucking hurts. He drinks her in, his eyes going from her head to her chest, to her feet, and good god, he needs to calm the fuck down. He slips his hand on her cheek and smiles at her. "God you're beautiful."

She looks at him, her expression unreadable, before pulling him back again. "I thought you said an hour straight," she mumbles against his mouth before plunging her tongue in, teasing his tongue into a dance, a passionate duel.

Her hands fall to his chest, feeling the taut muscles, slipping down to his abs, stopping just short on the waistband of his trousers. She feels his fingers tread on her hair, cupping the back of her head and bringing her face closer to his. Before she can even think or contemplate her actions, she is wrapping her legs around his waist, and he is hoisting her up against his hips. He walks backwards to the bed, never once letting their mouths and tongues untangle from one another and Regina resists the urge to thrust her core against his trouser-clad member.

God she wants him. And she has to remind herself again why she doesn't— _didn't_ —allow this to happen, for something  _more_ to happen. She is no prude after all, and god, she isn't a blushing virgin. She's had enough lovers in her time, more than some, and she's no stranger to meaningless sex.

So why is this a bad idea again?

He pulls away from her, breaking her chain of thoughts, and she wants to protest, but before she even could, he is making his way down the column of her neck, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses against her skin sending goose bumps all over her, making her shiver. He needs to  _not_  stop, he needs to keep going, and god, she needs to feel him suck her skin good and hard, give her a hickey for all she cares.

He does so, and she lets a moan slip past her lips. She knows now, with certainty, that if they ever do make love (and since when has it ever been love making to her? no, this is supposed to be  _just_ sex—not even close at the moment)…if they ever have sex, it's going to be explosive…they're like bombs waiting to tick off.

And yeah, this  _is_  a bad idea. She will get attached to him, already is attached to him, and pain will surely follow. And then what of Roland? What would he think? Not that he'd know about the shenanigans between his father and the queen he adores, but still, things are bound to change if they do have sex, and no she's not ready for that.

So, no, until she can detach herself to the fear entailed by having sex with her soul mate, this  _is_  a bad idea.

Her thoughts are muddled when his hand cups her breasts, his thumbs fanning her nipple, and fuck, someone please tell her why this is a bad fucking idea. Jesus Christ, she can feel wetness flood her, and should she stop him? No, fuck no, not when his lips are ghosting down to her clavicle, his tongue drawing a pattern against the soft skin of her cleavage left exposed by her pathetic excuse of a sleep wear.

"Regina," he mumbles against her skin. He pulls away and looks her in the eyes. "We need to stop, love."

Regina groans, watching him with lidded eyes, and yes she realizes that they do, but no, she doesn't want to.

"Has it been an hour?" she asks, teasing, because she needs to feel more of him, taste more of him, she needs to…needs him. She needs him.

He chuckles and shakes his head, pulling himself up and sitting down on bed, making sure there is some semblance of distance between them because he isn't sure he can trust himself not to flip her over on her back and devour her. "No I think it's not even been more than half an hour, but we need to stop." He smiles when a pout unconsciously makes its way to her lips. "But if we go on, I will not be held accountable for my actions. It's going to get a whole lot more than just kissing in another five seconds." He smirks at her.

She blushes, ducking her head to hide it, and she laughs, shaking her head as she sits up as well. Then her laughter dies down when she sees him looking at her as if he wants to eat her (he does), and she turns serious. "And the payment?" she asks tentatively.

"Is all paid up," he assures her, leaning in to still another peck from her lips, he lets their lips touch and linger before he pulls away. "Until our next bet, then, milady," he adds, winking up at her.

She nods, laughs and gets up from his bed. Yes, of course, until the next bet, and she'd make sure he won't know what hit him.

"God luck thief," she taunts, winking back at him, biting her lip for good measure before disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

"Damn it," Robin cussed as he watches her disappear, thinking that his big problem from earlier this night just became a whole lot bigger.

**...**

Sleep eludes Regina and she tries very hard to quiet down her thoughts and give in to exhaustion. She needs sleep, needs to be well rested if she is to face another adversary (namely a brigade of flying monkeys, or her sister's lollipop guild that she's probably hiding somewhere), or worse, if she has to face Robin the next day.

She's kissed him…fuck, no, she's actually made out with him, hands exploring and grabbing each other, and all. And now she can't take her mind off of him—not that  _that_  hasn't been a problem with her in the past. But now, now she can't forget the taste of him on her lips, her mouth, and she wants more, god she needs more. She feels like she'd explode.

Why is this such a dilemma anyway? She is no stranger to meaningless sex, as she remembers herself deducing even whilst in the haze of passion, she's done that to Graham after all.

But a traitorous voice inside her head says that she  _did_ care for Graham, in her own way, and it has never been  _just_  meaningless sex with him. She knows that even if the reason she's crushed the huntsman's heart is him regaining his memories and knowing about the curse, it's also partly because she cannot stand him being with anyone else, least of all Emma Swan. She has, whether she wants to admit it or not, cared for the huntsman…but the huntsman isn't the only one…he wasn't the only man lucky enough to get into her bed. There had not been  _that_  much, contrary to public belief, she had not gone and bedded every single one of her black guards (for god's sakes, what a preposterous thought), but she's had other—many other—lovers besides the huntsman. She's not cared for any of those. And maybe she can make Robin just another notch in her belt, just another someone she's fucked.

But could she?

Her thoughts lead her into a wild goose chase, leading to nothing being resolved come morning, and leaving her with a huge migraine that she tries to magic off, with very little effect. She hasn't come to a decision, only that she needs to taste his lips once more, needs his tongue on her skin (and maybe this would help her make a decision).

The indecision and the lack of sleep are a great combination to make her surly and irritable come morning, and more than once she's snapped at Snow White and her insipid  _charming_  husband, and not just once has she threatened to incinerate one of the stupid seven dwarves (or all of them, at once, she's no complaint, either).

Her reign as the Evil Queen surely did wonders, though, even if at just this moment, for the rest of the inhabitants of the castle steer clear of her sight, and most of them speak less, rather than risk infuriating the queen more with their stupid remarks.

Mercifully, she doesn't see the thief, and she has been told that he's out with his Merry Men (and merry are they, really, at most times of any given day), patrolling the woods. She scoffs at this.

"As if they have a standing chance against that green witch's flying monkey," she says scornfully to Snow, who's been the one to tell her of the news, when Regina asks why the castle seems to be too quiet, and where the bunch of forest-smelling men are.

"They're a band of great fighters, Regina," Snow says in her usual sickeningly optimistic way. "They've survived a lot of the soldiers hunting them down before, even your blackguards."

The comment shuts Regina up effectively, because Snow is right, the band of thieves is resourceful and adept if nothing else. However, Regina still thinks it is stupid, considering how maybe, probably, half of them could turn into flying monkeys themselves.

"If you're worried about Robin, I'm sure he's fine," Snow tells her, with a hint of smile upon her face, her eyes glimmering as well. "He's the leader of the Merry Men, surely that has to count for something."

Why should Snow be happy?

And why should Snow think that Regina is even remotely worried about that thief? (She is, but she won't admit that, not to herself, not to Snow, God forbid.)

"I am  _not_  worried about that thief," Regina spats at the younger woman. "I am not worried about any of them. I just don't want to have more enemies on our hands than allies. Once they are turned into flying monkeys, their allegiance is to that woman, and not to us—whether they like it or not. There are enough people turned on her side as it is. Furthermore, what of Roland? If that outlaw turns into a flying monkey, how are you going to explain that to the child?"

Snow laughs, that woman actually laughs, and it infuriates the Queen even more.

"All valid points, Regina, but you can't very well hide the fact that you care about Robin," Snow says, turning serious for a moment. "I can see it in your eyes. And I know you're too adamant to actually tell us that you do, but I know."

Regina rolls her eyes. "No, you don't," Regina snaps, unable to resist (it's becoming too close to comfort, what Snow says, and Regina cannot let herself care, not now, not this time—she'll get too close and she'll be burned). "You know nothing." And then she is making her exit, leaving Snow alone in the great room.

And if Regina's inner turmoil shows in her eyes, Snow makes no mention of it, lest the Queen loses her patience and incinerates the princess right there, on the spot.

**...**

Regina finds herself wandering through the halls of the castle a little while after dinner, the late hours of the night giving her the peace and quiet she craves (though it isn't very late, she assumes, probably not even past Henry's bed time, but in a land as primitive as the Enchanted Forest—no TV, laptops, not even electricity, it can be very late). Her mind drifts from her son to her outlaw… _the_  outlaw, not her outlaw, she scolds herself mentally.

She scoffs.

Who the hell is she kidding?

He is hers, she is his, as mandated by a nosy (though probably well meaning) green fairy and her stolen green pixie dust. And that's what scares Regina the most. That knowledge that he is her soul mate—that they are meant for each other, that their paths are meant to cross (obviously), and that no matter how hard she resists, no matter how hard she pushes, she can't fight him, can't fight the feelings he brings out on her. She has the choice, of course, to walk away, but how does one walk away from the feeling of having a soul mate anyway?

She's gone over the same thoughts and the same fears again and again only to come up with the same conclusion: she wants him, feelings be damned.

She wants to feel his skin on hers, wants to feel that muscle-clad body pressings against hers, wants to feel his arms around her, wants to feel his tongue play again with hers, and that scruff between her thighs…alright, she needs to halt those thoughts. There is nothing more uncomfortable than leather pants and a throbbing core with no one there alleviate it.

She groans and lets her head fall to the palm of her hand, rubbing her eyes in the process, to get rid of her thoughts. She's thought that the thief would be a good distraction from the pain she feels when thinking about her son (the pain she feels even she's not thinking about Henry), but she's wrong, because thinking of the thief brings about pain, as well as a migraine and of course, a pooling wetness between her thighs.

Before she can think any further, she feels a small body crashing down onto her leg, almost making her topple over and fall flat on her face. She braces herself on the wall, trying to regain equilibrium, as she looks down to her feet and finds a pair of twinkling brown eyes and knee-weakening dimples staring back at her. Arms tighten around her legs, and she chuckles, her hands coming down to lift up the owner of those beautiful brown eyes and deep dimples.

"Hello, sweetheart," she says, smiling softly, her heart breaking at the sight of the young boy, so akin to the child she's once held and now lost, his eyes as inquisitive as Henry's had once been (still is, she imagines, for she no longer can verify her thoughts since he is lost to her). But she gives the boy a smile, anyway, even when her heart is falling into many pieces. "What are you doing here? It's late."

She frowns, her forehead creasing. She doesn't like the thought of the young boy going around the castle alone, it's not safe, and she makes sure to remember to berate tomorrow whoever is in charge of the boy tonight.

The little boy shrugs his shoulder (a habit he's picked up from the queen herself), before wounding his arms around the queen and squishing her for his version of a hug. "I wanted to explore," he tells her with a grin.

His dimples melt Regina's heart into a puddle but she shakes her head. It's too dangerous. She pushes back the unruly mass of hair from the little boy's forehead, giving it a soft kiss, inhaling the baby scent that blends in with the smell of forest (a softer, more baby version of his father's smell, but forest-y nonetheless). She remembers her own son, as she always does when around the little boy, and tears press against her eyes but she holds it back. She doesn't want to cry in front of the innocent child, it will only bring questions she can't answer.

"Alright, Roland," she begins sternly, her eyes boring into young brown ones. She needs him to understand how dangerous this wandering is (she isn't setting a better example, she realizes), "You can't just wander around the castle halls at night, okay? Especially when no one is around to look after you. You can have your adventures, but only if the sky is awake too, and there are people to look over you."

The child nods slowly before yawning, rubbing his eyes with his fists, and cuddling closer to her, settling his little head on the crook of her neck and shoulder. "Yes, my majesty," he whispers as his voice fades into a whisper, sleep overtaking his little body. A smile graces her lips at the title the boy calls her, even if he's gotten it wrong—doesn't matter, he's adorable.

Regina sighs, hopes the point has at least gotten across, before she makes her way to the other part of the castle to settle the little boy to his bed chamber where he is supposed to be. She wonders how the child has gotten to the other side of the castle, escaping supervision, but then again, he is the thief's child. He is probably trained to be just as sneaky—something that is still cute at his age, until it becomes a habit that's too dangerous to be cute anymore.

When Regina reaches the little boy's bed chambers, her back is aching and her shoulders are tired, but it matters very little to her as his sweet scent continues to invade her senses. How she wishes Henry is there, too. He'd probably get a kick out of having Roland around, as the little boy would undoubtedly be awestruck by Henry, fascinated by the older boy's knowledge of the mundane.

But her boy is not there. He won't ever be. And unless she finds some kind of portal, some magic bean or some replicate of a hat that crosses realms, there is no hope of getting back to him.

The boy in her arms stirs, effectively snapping her out of her depressing thoughts and Regina waves her hand to open the door, seeing one of the Merry Men sprawled out on the floor of Roland's bed. This makes Regina's blood to boil and she barely stops herself from charring that stupid man to crisp.

Regina places the boy on the bed, pulling the covers over him before placing a kiss on his forehead. Her heart melts at the sight of the little boy, and though she knows that she can never replace Henry in her heart, Roland has been able to worm his way to it. And he seems to stay there.

Smiling, she again smooths out his dark curls from his forehead, wanting nothing more than to snuggle with the boy, but knowing that she should not. She would not, could not. She is too lost in her thoughts that she doesn't hear someone come in until she hears them speak.

"Hello, Milady," she hears someone say, and she knows that voice too well, knows that accent from anywhere.

She bites her lip and turns around, her heart racing (why exactly is it racing though?). "Thief," she says back, enunciating the moniker with as much bite as she can, making him smirk at her in that infuriating way that only he knows how.

At the back of her mind, she thinks that they should really stop meeting like this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

  


Regina stops herself from blushing like a school girl, or worse throwing herself at him (she's so fucking happy to see him still in one piece, still the thief that he is, and not a winged beast), but the anger pulsates in her veins at the thought of him being turned to one of Zelena's minions, so she shakes her head and bares her teeth at the thief. She instructs him to follow her outside, lest she starts yelling at him and wake the boy up, or the stupid Merry Man who has fallen asleep while on duty—and it becomes a drama of epic proportions.

She leads him to an empty bedroom, her blood boiling and her nerves tingling in pure anger. How can he leave his son in such incapable hands? And how can be so stupid running after a despicable green witch? She shuts the bedroom door with unbridled anger, as though the door has offended her, too. She whirls around to find the outlaw still smirking at her, and she's torn whether or not she wants to slap that stupid smirk off his face or kiss him senseless (her body is itching for the latter, so she closes her hands in a fist and lets her nails sink to the soft flesh). She wants to bite his head off, not only for putting his son in danger, but also himself, for running off as he had, without a word, almost seemingly looking for trouble.

"Your son has been wandering the halls of the castle at such a late hour," she tells him furiously. She notices the way his smirk falls from his face, and that's great, damn him. "How can you trust such incompetent fools to look after Roland when they're just going to fall asleep on the job and drool on my damned carpet instead of looking after him as they've been instructed to?!"

Her voice rises at every inflection, and she sees him wince. Serves him right, that thief, she thinks, even if she doesn't even know why she's so riled up about this. It's his son, he knows better, is  _supposed_  to know better, and she has neither right nor business condemning or berating him about his parenting skills.

But the outlaw stays quiet as the queen rails on him, biting his lip, as if it's a great effort not to snap back at her.

It  _is_.

"As if you aren't stupid enough to go off on your own on the damned woods, searching for trouble!?" she rallies on, unaware of the smirk now blooming once more on the outlaw's lips as the words leave her mouth. "Patrolling for those terrible horrid winged beasts! You're lucky you weren't turned in one. You've been—," but she doesn't get to finish her sentence as she gets cut off by his mouth on hers.

His lips entangles with hers in a searing kiss, his hand grasping her shoulders and pulling her close to him, before one hand falls to the small of her back, keeping her close, making sure she won't go away—not that she even can, at this point. Thoughts have fled her, and she is nothing but a pile of goo, liquefied by desire.

His mouth is hot and insistent as it wreaks havoc to her already frazzled nerves. His teeth nip at her soft lips, tongue swiping at the corner of her mouth, eliciting a moan, before it plunders inside her hot mouth, seeking for her and engaging it in a lustful dance. He traces the inside of her jaws with his tongue, tasting her fully, exploring ever cavern and crevice, every nook and cranny of her mouth, and lord help her, she actually feels every ounce of control slipping, feels the world around her tilt continuously in every angle, shaking her and making her head spin. He is making her breathless, but god, at least she is breathless with the taste of him on her tongue.

"Robin," she sighs as his mouth leaves hers and they both try to catch their breath, each gasp of air bouncing against each other's skin as they stand close—chest to chest, nose to nose—against each other.

"Were you worried about me?" he asks softly, his fingers tracing the column of her neck, down to the blades of her shoulder, making her shiver in his arms involuntarily.

She scoffs, ready to deny to death that she did, does still, worry about him. His innate need for the heroics (much like the  _un_ -charmings) will one day put him in grave danger, and really does not want for Roland to grow up an orphan.

"I don't relish having to explain to your son how you perished because of your stupidity and machismo," she answers sternly, trying to go for insult, but the cutting edge to her voice does nothing to stop the grin from forming on the thief's lips.

He really is infuriating, damn him.

**...**

**  
**

He ignores the slight, the verbal jab, because the elation he feels is too much. If he reads correctly, the beautiful queen has been worried about him, and though there is neither cause nor reason for her worry, it still feels good to him.

"I said, were you worried about me, Regina?" he repeats, his eyes watching hers as they flicker, hardening for one instant, looking clearly angry, and then the anger melts into softness, a genuine concern he has only ever imagined her granting to hm.

She bites her lip, casting her eyes down to hide the plethora of emotions he's sure he'll see there. Her eyes are truly the window to her soul, and she—as evil as people say she is, as blackened as her heart that she, herself, claims is—she has the biggest heart he's ever known. Always so capable of so many emotions—love, hatred, concern, happiness, sadness, all of it in the extremes—all of those emotions pouring out of her eyes.

She feels things deeply, he realizes. For how else could one cast the dark curse out of vengeance if the vengeance has not come from somewhere too deep, felt by someone who felt too deeply?

"I do not find the idea of making out with a flying monkey a promising or even remotely pleasant, even if the flying monkey was you," she all but blurts out, her voice coming out low and from deep within her chest, and the words are almost muffled as her head keeps bowed down.

He chuckles. She won't admit it, not right out, but what she's said is good enough for him—it's enough for him (to her, her words are akin to actually admitting it anyway). He knows. He knows that she's worried about him, and he understands that she can't say it, won't say it, at least not yet—years of pain, of being alone, of being slightly emotionally stunted (he won't say this to her face, of course, lest she chars him to a crisp) doesn't really allow for her to be able to give freely her affection and concern, or even admit to it.

It's enough that she  _does_  care.

"Thank you," he tells her softly, obviously catching her by surprise as her head snaps up towards him so fast and so hard that he hears something cracking in her neck, and she almost hits his chin with her head. He smiles through her confused look and pulls her closer, pressing his lips against her forehead.

"It's been such a long time since someone's been worried about me, aside from my son, of course. I forgot what it feels like," he adds, following his admission with a sheepish smile.

She shakes her head, her face burying once again to his chiseled chest, her arms encircling his waist (and he's never known that the  _Evil Queen_  is a fan of cuddling, never imagined that she is, and it's a pleasant surprise to find out that she enjoys it). His arms tighten around her as he buries his nose against her hair, inhaling in the fresh scent of apples and cinnamon and something so distinctly hers.

He wonders when this turned into something like this—a coddling, soft, genuine budding affection between them, considering where it started. He's lusted after the Queen, of course, found her body too delectable, that even his honor cannot resist taking a peek whenever she sashays in the pace in her Evil Queen garb. It used to be lust, something fiery, passionate—unbridled and untamed…and then he's started caring about her, started seeing beyond the façade, saw the woman inside who's cared for a boy that isn't hers even if she feels keenly the lost of her own whenever the said boy is anywhere near her. He wonders when the carnal hunger, the lust, has faded into fierce and passionate but genuine feelings of caring and concern. He wonders when wanting to tear off her clothes and fuck her senseless has turned into cuddling and gentle kisses.

He likes this woman, that much he knows, when the evil queen's all but shed her armor and she's stripped back some of her layers, not enough to get close completely (unless you're a dimpled hobbit, that is), but enough to see  _her._  He likes her when she's just the vulnerable (but  _never_  weak), pliant woman that is Regina Mills. Regina Mills the mother, the tiny lady with a big personality. Regina Mills, the human, the woman, the person.

Bold and audacious, fierce and protective—but she wears no mask, wears no armor. Just Regina.

"It doesn't mean anything," she insists but it misses the bite that should have accompanied it.

He makes a sound deep in his throat—one of sheer disagreement—but he doesn't argue. He'll leave it for now. He understands, anyway.

"Why are you still up, Majesty?" he asks instead, pulling back a little to give her a stern look—a look that melts into one of concern, because he is  _not_  her keeper, she does  _not_  need a keeper, and she is her own woman. She doesn't need a man to tell her what to do, or what not to do.

She clicks her tongue, ready to take offence, for sure, but then she sags against him instead, as if her tension has lifted away with the big, deep breath she's taken.

"I miss my son," she admits freely, and it surprises him. Sure he's know what she feels, knows she misses her son terribly, but she's never said so to him—always keeping that shield over her emotions from him.

"I know, love," he says, pulling her close once again, his lips finding the soft, smooth skin of her forehead. He presses his lips against her forehead once, twice, then another time before letting her go.

Silence befalls them, and he strives to keep the glum away, to see the Queen smiling once again, or fighting with him, whichever rouses a reaction from her, because he doesn't ever want to see her so despondent.

"I bet I could still seduce you even as a flying monkey," he teases, if nothing more than just to get a reaction from her.

She scoffs (and his plan has worked) and rolls her eyes. "You can't even seduce me in you wingless monkey form," she says, pertaining to his form now, and he should be offended, but he's not, instead he chuckles, and pulls her closer.

"Want to bet on that, lady?" he asks with carelessness and ease that's been forged by their little games through their stay in this castle.

"I would, but I'd hate to win so easily," she sasses at him, returning his smirk.

He smirks at her, determined to send away the blue mood of the Queen. He doesn't like to see her sad, and he knows that she's shared enough, and won't be sharing anything more again, so he just needs to distract her.

"Is that so?" He gives her a questioning look, challenging her even before he says the words. "You want to play game, love?" he asks, his smirk turning into a shit-eating grin.

**...**   


**  
**

Her heart starts to pound loudly and erratically against her chest. Another game, another sure way to chip at her walls and in a twisted, indescribable way, make her fall for him even more—because through these games (most of them drunken), she sees a part of him she didn't even know exists, and he peels back another layer of her, until the  _Evil_  moniker becomes nothing more than just that…a moniker.

"What game do you have in mind?" she asks coyly, never the one to be deterred, never the one to back down.

"Uh…well, we could have a drinking game," he suggests as his mouth screws up thoughtfully, as if weighing the pros and cons of a blasted drinking game.

She puckers her lip in the same manner as he, trying to decide whether or not counting how many birds from the skies are out tonight is worth waking up with a deadly hangover. But maybe, they can be a little more inventive than that.

"A drinking game," she reiterates slowly, as if tasting the idea on her lips, and she is—she is weighing the idea very thoughtfully because she does need the diversion, needs to stop thinking of her lost son for even just a night, so she might be able to actually sleep, instead of wallow in self pity and drown in a puddle of her tears. Vaguely, she is aware that drowning her sorrows with alcohol would be anything but permanent, only a temporary salve to the gnawing pain her chest that will only start anew come morning (complete with a hangover that she would more or less try to magic her way out of).

"We could ransack the pantry," he suggests, and he gives her a roguish smile that tells her that he's done this before (and where is the surprise, really?). "And then we could play a couple of rounds of ' _Never have I ever'."_

The game sounds enticing, but suddenly a thought pops in her head, and she smirks at him, gleeful at the prospect of this particular game she wants for them to play.

"Or," she says as she runs a finger down the expanse of his chest to his navel, stopping at the soft skin just above his trousers. "We can play something else."

His breath hitches but he does try to keep his composure. "And what would that be, your majesty?" he asks, his eyebrow raising just a tad bit in question.

"How about a game of poker?" she asks with a devious smile.

And the look on his face tells her that he doesn't have a clue why she's looking so damned pleased about herself (and she  _is_ ), when clearly their last game had not ended well for her, and she would have been quite literally fucked in every corner of this palace (what a lovely thought, she thinks inwardly—not so lovely however when the object of her thoughts—and the salacious details that come with him—is not even barely a foot away and he is watching her intently).

But it is a pleasing thought. Or it should be.

"Do you not remember how you lost the last time we played that game, my lady?" he asks with a smug grin, earning himself a slap on the shoulder from the queen—one that he only laughs at and he catches her hands in is and holds them together so she won't be able to do it again.

"I remember quite well," she says primly, rolling her eyes at him and huffing. "You were just lucky that day, I was distracted. I'm going to win this time, and anyway, we're going to put a twist."

"And what would the twist be?" he asks, curious now.

"We'll play a rousing game of  _strip_  poker," she says slowly, drawling the words and giving him a wink for good measure. She watches as he licks his lips involuntarily. "How about that?"

"Ah," he replies with a nod, "you got yourself a challenge, milady."

A challenge it is, she agrees, to be presented with his naked skin and have to control herself from jumping him.

**...**   


**  
**

Regina walks down the halls of the caste quietly, her long flowing robe swishing behind her. She's asked for a few minutes before they play so she might change into something more comfortable. And her attire of choice is a peachy satin pajamas and its matching robe, she's also donned on a pair of socks and slippers. She wore a pair of peachy underwear, but she's also put on a camisole underneath her pajama top to be sure. She's determined to win, but just in case, well, she's not going to be unprepared. She isn't about to make it easy for him to get her naked.

She opens the door and walks her way inside, biting her lip in an effort to tamper down the smile threatening to split her lips, and to also calm her raging nerves down. She is pretty excited, not that she's ever going to admit to that. She needs to prove to herself that even if she's changed and has tried to put the Evil Queen somewhere where she can't be let out (unless it is absolutely necessary like when she's going to destroy her pesky sister), she has still enough of the Queen in her to entice a man. She needs to prove to herself that she can do this—seduce Robin Hood and not feel guilt over it, not feel like she's splitting her soul in half and handing it over to him.

She is surprised when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her middle, pulling her back, and all of a sudden she feels the wall hard against her back, a solid body laying over hers, pinning her against the surface. Before she can react, soft lips capture hers in a heated kiss. She stiffens, at first, but as the smell of forest invades her senses, she relaxes, kisses back, and moans when his tongue slides in her mouth.

"I can't get enough of you," Robin murmurs against her mouth, making her grin.

She gives him another searing kiss, before she responds with, "Good." She indulges him, then, with another kiss, before she pushes him towards the bed, their mouths fuse together again and again, lips parting, teeth and tongue clashing and clashing. When he falls over to the soft bed with a grunt, laying spread eagle over it, she clambers over his lap and never lets their lips part. She feels his hand fall over to cup her bottom, and her own fall over to his chest, feeling the hard planes. She feels so keenly the things that she's not felt for years—not even with Graham. Sure enough, Graham  _was_  one great specimen of a man, but with Robin it's different—she feels things not only to where she's throbbing now, she feels them through her soul, and that is exactly what scares her. She pulls away, panting.

"I think we're going to work harder to pretend not to like each other, to throw them off," Robin says as he struggles to catch his breath. He stares up at her, letting his hand travel up from her bottom to her hips, letting them fall away and land on her thighs.

She smirks at him. "I don't have to pretend," she says, "I don't like you." But she looks at him with mischievous eyes. And he knows that it's not true.

He chuckles, sitting up with her still in his lap, and then pulling her close and landing a kiss to her cheek. "I don't like you either," he whispers against her ear, nipping her lobe and making her groan softly.

She can feel his arousal hard and erect against her core and she needs to put some distance between them before she strips him naked and climbs him. She needs to calm herself down, really—she's not a horny, sex-crazed teenager. She's a queen and a mother, above all else, even if both titles doesn't seem to be what she is, anymore. Still, she needs to act like one.

She crawls away from his lap and situates herself in his bed, not missing the groan that escapes him when she does. She misses his warmth and the feel of his arms around her but that's not something she should think about, so she doesn't, and instead she crosses her legs underneath her and raises an eyebrow at him.

"I was promised a rousing game of strip poker," she says (and it's not lost on her how this game might actually lead to where she doesn't think she's ready to let it head to, but at the moment she doesn't particularly care), the thought of his muscles and pectorals on display making her grin, and aroused but she'd never tell him that.

"Ah, yes, of course, your majesty," he says, nodding, smirking. "Are you ready to lose?"

She scoffs at him, waving her hand and making a deck of cards appear before the two of them. "I'm always ready to win, thief," she says, raising an eyebrow at him, and making him laugh. "Deal the cards, Robin."

And so he does.

**...**   


**  
**

Robin peers up at the Queen as he deals the cards. She looks at him in question.

"What?" she asks, running a hand through her long hair unconsciously.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head as he distributes the cards between them. But she continues to stare at him. "You're beautiful, Regina Mills."

This earns him a blush, and he smiles discreetly, tucking away the memory in his brain, to be remembered for all eternity. He loves her this way—just Regina, in her nightgown, hair flowing, the light of the candles flickering against her skin, and her face devoid of all that dark makeup. She is a beautiful woman, when she's all dolled up in her Evil Queen garb, but she's even more beautiful this way, when her armors are down, and her mask put away.

"What happened?" she asks him suddenly, breaking him away from his thoughts. "With your patrol?" she continues when his eyebrow shoots up in confusion.

"Ah," he says as he places the deck between them. He picks up his card and stares at them, before speaking. "There are traces of her winged beasts circling the forests. But I don't think they can make it past through your barrier."

She smirks. "Good," she says, obviously pleased.

It is of no secret to them both that the green witch is stronger than her. She doesn't say much about it or to what extent, just that she'll find a way to destroy her. No one else in the castle knows, of course, and he's kept mum about it, and though he has faith that she will, eventually, defeat the green bitch, he worries about her. She does have a knack of putting herself in harm's way and not caring about what should happen to her—believing that no one does either.

_No one you'll miss, no one anyone will miss_ , he remembers her telling him. He knows she believes this, but he wonders if it has changed now that she has more people caring for her—Snow, her husband, Tinkerbelle, Roland…and of course, himself.

"Thief," the queen says, frustrated, as she waves a hand in front of his face. She looks irritated. "Are you playing or should I just retire for the night?" She huffs at him.

"No, your majesty," he says. "I'm sorry, I was thinking of Roland." It's a lie, of course, but she seems to buy it as her face softens and she nods.

"Fine," she says. "Concentrate now."

He nods. "Fold?" he asks.

The Queen bites her lip. "Mmmhmmm," she hums, nodding. "Show?"

He nods and places his card in between them, face up, as she does the same. He grins triumphantly when he sees her cards and clicks his tongue.

"I do believe that her Majesty should shed a piece of clothing," he teases as he waggles his eyebrows playfully.

She sighs, looks chagrined for a moment, before she's taking her left slipper of.

"Oi!" he exclaims. "That's cheating, if you're taking footwear, you have to take off both."

The queen looks at him like he should be buried six feet under by now, before sighing and taking the right slipper as well.

"Happy?" she asks, obviously annoyed.

He only chuckles in response.

**.*.**   


**  
**

A few more games later and now the thief is down to his tank and shorts, both his shoes and socks are off, his jacket is on a pile on the ground along with his pants and shirt. The Queen has her slippers, socks, robe and pajama top thrown messily on the floor, and on the process of taking her camisole off. Robin is only mildly surprised that the Queen has won more rounds, but he can't remember why he should be disappointed when Regina's perfectly tanned skin is slowly bared to him.

He takes a swig of the whisky the Queen has conjured up three rounds into the game. They have been passing it between the two of them ever since, and though he is slightly buzzed, he knows he isn't drunk. The Queen is a lot more intoxicated that he is, tiny being that she is, but he can see that she still can hold her own.

She pulls her camisole up and off of her body, treating him with the sight of her peachy undergarment that he has no idea even exists. It does not look like any of the corsets he's seen in his time, but god, her tits look great in them—so bloody great, in fact, that he can feel himself salivating at the sight of them, never mind being aroused, he's been bloody hard even before they've started this game. He looks up to find the queen smirking up at him, fully aware of what she's doing to him.

That's it, he thinks, as he screws the lid on top of the bottle, making sure it won't spill before throwing it off on the floor, the dull thud it makes as it hits the ground muffled by the carpet, and then he's pulling her into his arms, capturing her lips into a heated kiss. It's the third time this night that he's jumped on her and kissed her deeply, and if he does not feel that hot mouth around his cock soon, he will fucking explode in his trousers. As it is, he is so rock hard that he can feel himself straining against the fabric, so hard to the point that it hurts.

They fall against the covers, as he crawls on top of her and his tongue slides into her mouth. He hears her moan and it spurs him on, his hands sneaking up to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. He needs her, needs her now.

**...**   


**  
**

She doesn't have time to react before he's kissing her senseless, his hand crawling up to her back, where her bra is hooked. She can't stop him now, doesn't have the desire to. Let him have his way with her, and then she'll reexamine everything in the morning, blame it on bad decision and whisky.

She laughs when she hears an expletive leave his mouth as his hand fiddles with her bra, unsuccessful in his task of unhooking it. She pushes him away slightly, sitting up and reversing their positions until she's straddling him for the second time that night. She sits on his lap, feels his penis rubbing against her core, damn these satin pajamas, she needs them off. She feels his hardness and she can't help it, she moans and arches her back. He sees this as an opening, his mouth latching on her skin, sucking heartily on her pulse point, biting down gently—god, he's going to leave a mark on her, but fuck it she doesn't care, as she rubs her clothed core against his equally clothed girth. She feels the warmth seeping through, feels her womanhood flooding with warm wetness, god she needs him to fill her up.

Her hand comes up to her back and she unhooks her bra, freeing her breasts for him to feast on. He pulls away from her neck, his eyes falling to her bared breasts, before his hands slides up to test their weight in the palm of his hands. The warmth of his skin enflames her already overheated skin— _LORD GOD WHY IS HE STILL NOT NAKED?_

She needs to remedy that, she thinks, as her hands goes to the hem of his tank and she lifts it up and off his head, throwing it away blindly. At this point, she doesn't care about anything. And she finds herself caring even less when his hot mouth surrounds her nipples, sucking it deep and hard, making her gasp out and moan. One of his hands falls to her hips and grasps tightly, while the other remains on her breasts—kneading, pinching, kneading. His tongue flicks against her nipple, making her breath hitch. She arches her back, as her arms close around his head, pulling him closer, encouraging him without words to suck harder.

What would it feel like to have that tongue flicking against her clit?

She needs to know, needs more than anything to  _make love_  with this man.

"Robin," she moans and she hears him grunt as she slides up and down his shaft. She needs him, needs him so badly.

She's all lust now, and lord help her, her world is spinning so fast but she knows that the alcohol has nothing at all to do with it. This is all Robin. It's Robin and his touch that is making her breathless, his mouth that's branding him and making her a pliant flesh and limbs in his arms.

Robin lets her nipple go with a pop before he's transferring to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. One of her hands falls to his navel, sliding inside his shorts and gripping his shaft. It's huge, good lord, it's fucking huge and long, and goddamnit she's going to enjoy this so much, all of that soul mate business be damned.

She's going to enjoy this man so much.

"Regina," he mutters against her skin as she runs her hand down the length of him.

Fuck this, she doesn't care anymore, she just wants him.

_Knock, knock_.

She stiffens, as she hears a soft thumping against the door.

"Robin," she manages to gasp out through the haze of pleasure. "Someone's pounding against the door."

Robin snorts and lifts his head to look at her. "You want to be pounded at against the door?" he asks, looking confused but all too mischievous.

She frees her hand and smacks him. "I said someone's pounding against the door," she repeats, smirking.

"Definitely want to be pounded at against the door," he says, smirking back at her.

"Be serious, Robin," she says, frowning up at him just as the pounding continues. Thank God she had the foresight to lock the door five games ago.

"Daddy? Daddy are you there?" she hears someone ask from the other side of the door, and she stiffens, he lets out an expletive before they both scramble off each other, climbing down the bed to locate lost garments.

Regina waves her hand and within a second, they both look presentable enough, save for the flush on their cheeks. At least, they don't look anymore like they're about to have sex, like they were a few minutes ago.

"I'm here buddy," Robin calls out to his son. "Just a minute." And then he's pulling Regina to his arms, landing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips. "Another time, my sweet, another time."

Regina neither confirms nor denies, she already knows she can't control herself around him. She just wounds her arms around his waist and gives him one more squeeze. She lets him go, and is about to wave her hand and transport herself to her bedchambers when Robin closes his hand around her wrist.

He looks at her softly. "Stay," he pleads. "Let me hold you as we sleep."

She bites her lip, feeling torn. Sex is one thing, but to cuddle and sleep together—that's twilight zone, isn't it? They are not lovers. But before she can say anything, he leaves her side and opens the door, and she remains rooted on her spot, watching as Roland launches himself to his father.

"You're back," Roland exclaims happily.

"Hello, son," Robin says as he kisses his son's forehead. "It's late, why are you still up?"

"Had a bad dream daddy," the boy answers with an adorable pout. He looks behind his father for a second and spots the Queen standing near the bed. "Majesty!" He squeals and begs to be put down. He launches himself to the Queen, crashing against her legs, once his father puts him down. "What are you doing here?"

Robin and Regina looks at each other, frozen and shocked, unable to answer the simple question. They can't very well tell Roland that they were just about to fuck, now can they?

"Did you have a bad dream, Majesty?" Roland asks before either of them can speak, "Because papa's so good at chasing them away."

Regina smirks at the thief then, lifting up Roland into her arms and kissing his cheek and making him blush (apparently, both Hood men have something more in common that just their dimples) and grin, his dimples peeking out.

"Actually, my sweet knight, your father is the one who had the bad dream," she says, earning herself an eyebrow raise from the thief. "I was just here to comfort him."

The little boy hugs the Queen and kisses her cheek, before his hand falls to her shoulder and he cuddles closer. "It's okay, majesty. You don't need to pretend," he says, much to his father's amusement. "Don't be scared, Papa and I can protect you."

The queen gasps in surprise, before chuckling. Robin joins her in laughter as Roland smiles sleepily, proud of himself, then yawns.

"Alright let's put you to bed," the Queen says, as she walks over to Robin's bed and lays the sleepy boy down.

"Stay, majesty," Roland begs, looking up at her with sleepy eyes and a pout, his hand gripping hers.

"Yeah, majesty, stay," Robin chimes in, pouting up at her as well.

She sighs, it seems that the Hood men's charm have gotten to her. "Alright," she says, nodding. And then she's climbing up the bed, lying beside Roland just as Robin does the same.

They settle down the bed, but it seems Roland has other plans. He sits up in the middle of the bed, crawling to Regina's right, placing her in the middle. Roland snuggles against the Queen's side, just as Robin's arm wounds around her waist, his face burying against her hair, hiding his pleased smile, but she feels it, anyway.

"You sleep in the middle so we can protect you," the young boy mumbles sleepily against his side.

She feels Robin's arms tighten around her waist, his lips placing a kiss against her temple.

"We'll keep you safe," he whispers against her skin.

Regina closes her eyes, unable to answer as tears prickle against her eyelids. She exhales heavily. Her heart breaks again, but this time for an entirely different reason. It breaks because she's only ever felt this way against her son, and she's never thought she'll ever feel it again. For the night, she doesn't have to be indestructible…for the night, she's not the Evil Queen, or the Queen whose sister is out to destroy her…for tonight, she's just Regina, and for tonight, she feels like she belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont play poker so i winged it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that this is porn. Just porn without plot. And that when that stupid insipid grouo on FF.net told me this story was explicit, I knew it was. I fucking wrote it.

**Chapter Five**

 

 

It's been two weeks

Two weeks since he's felt like some unimportant detail in her everyday life, like he's the gum at the bottom of her killer heels. It's been two weeks since he's been trying to get her attention and failing.

He will lose his bloody mind soon.

She's ignoring him. Ever since that night where they almost made love, she's been avoiding him like a plague. She's even taken in to being extra mean to him, and she's never talked to him or addressed him, unless it's about Roland or berating him for his and his men's actions. When she needs things done, she lets Snow inform them.

When they find themselves in the same room, there seems to be conveniently too many people, or the  _un-_ charmings (as she used to call them and as he has taken to calling them now) are there, basically fucking everywhere. When he does get her alone, when she's roaming the corridors of the palace at night alone (it's dangerous and he must always remind himself to remind her in the politest way possible that she should  _not_  be doing that), he is too distracted by her beautiful face, her body covered with some fine silk (it reminds him of that night, always that night, when she was glorious and free in his arms, naked and pliant and her tits are just within his reach, his teeth nipping at soft, fragrant skin), he forgets his words, forgets himself. When he gets his bearings, she's already disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

She clearly doesn't want anything to do with him, clearly has put a great fucking wall between them again that seems to go on for miles in length and height, and he doesn't know why.

He doesn't have a bloody clue what he's done.

Well, actually, that's a lie. He does have an inkling. She's running, of course, that's what it is. She's running away because he's come too close, too far, too deep inside. He's managed to chip away her high walls enough to climb over and see the real her and she's scared. He knows that she is scared. But if only she would take a moment to realize that she shouldn't be scared, that she doesn't have to be. He doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't want to do anything to cause her pain. He only ever wants to be allowed to love her…because he does…he is in love with her…Wait,  _what?_

Is he really?

_Yes,_  yes, he is…truly and irrevocably in love with the Evil Queen…but no really, he is in love with Regina Mills, the woman behind the great and terrible Evil Queen, the woman who has hidden behind the mask of the unforgiving brutal queen who's killed hundred in the pursuit of Snow White. But she is more than just that woman, Regina Mills  _is_  more than just a woman or a Queen…she is everything.

He mulls it over, tries to pinpoint when exactly fell for the Queen, and how…but he doesn't really know. But now that he knows that, that he loves her, has transcended past caring and liking and has fully, truly fallen in love with her…he doesn't really know what to do with it. Or better yet, get back to her good graces long enough to get close to her again, because while he might not be able to tell her that he does, out of fear that she might throw his love back to his face, he does want the chance to be able to love her anyway, in his own quiet way.

**...**

 

She cannot face him. No, that's just…no, she can't do it. She's already let herself get to close to him, and if she lets him in more, even in an infinitesimal amount, she will start crumbling—she will start wishing for things that she can't have—like him, and Roland, and Henry, a family, happiness, and love for another being that she's not herself feel for a long time since Daniel. She's start wishing for things that she's not bound to have, for a happy ending—because villains don't get a happy ending.

So no, she has to stay away, has to put a modicum (actually a hell lot) of distance between them before either one of them gets hurt. It's going to end badly, anyway, so why put herself through that torture?

But it's hard to keep on telling herself that as she takes her seat on the dining table, overseeing from where she is the father and son she's been trying so hard to ignore and avoid for two weeks. Granted, the little dimpled boy is harder to ignore and avoid (she literally melts every time he says her name in a particularly endearingly whiny way that he does and then he flashes a pout up at her, as if his doe eyes are not difficult to battle already), but the father—well, at least, he seems to respect her need for space—well, most of the time.

Still, in a large castle such as this, one would think that it's easier to avoid these dimpled pair of father and son, but god, is she wrong, so very bloody wrong. It seems that these thieves have made themselves right at home in her ( _their_ , she thinks, hers and the Charmings) castle, and they are  _everywhere_. Bows and arrows thrown haphazardly in the great halls, their garments hung up and waited for to be dried out in every open space there are outside of the castle, sleeping men loitering about nooks and corners of the large castle (places she doesn't even think they would find, but they have, because what does she expect really?), their feet have, on more than one occasion, caused her to trip and almost fall flat to her face.

Robin is even more ominous than all of his men combined, for wherever she finds herself in, may it be lunch in the great hall, or meetings with the charmings—he's gotten himself an open invitation to the council, or even in her late night roaming in the halls of the castle that has once kept her a prisoner, she finds that thief too. She wants to scream at him to get stuffed and get lost, but really, he is only doing what he can to contribute to everyone's safety (but please, can he contribute to the safety fifty miles away from her?).

All this soul mate business has gone through her head.

His eyes meet hers over the long table full of people and she feels her heart stutter. His blue orbs bore into hers, and she sees so many things in them, a myriad of emotions she can't even begin to understand. But one emotion does stick out, because she feels it keenly too: he misses her, just as she does with him, and it's all too much, too much, that she has to look away from him, lest she actually does something as cliché as running into his arms and kissing him senseless.

"Regina," she hears someone say from beside her and she pulls away from her thoughts and looks to her right, to find Snow looking at her. Regina raises her eyebrow in question and Snow continues, "It's been what, two months since Zelena visited us…" she trails off, leaving that thought to be filled. Snow's hand lands on her bulging stomach, now three months along, her lips falling in a worried frown.

Regina bites her lip, her stomach churning at the thought. It  _has_ been two months and nothing. She knows that the winged beasts have been circling the castle, Robin and his men have said so, but she knows that her sister is strong enough to weaken, if not completely destroy the barrier she's put up. Silence is  _never_  a good thing, Regina thinks.

"We can't attack without knowing anything, Snow," Regina says, and she knows it doesn't placate the pregnant woman, it doesn't placate herself, even. But it's the best she can do, it's the truth—half the truth, because really, they can't attack her vermin of a sister.

Snow sighs, but doesn't say anything more.

Regina mirrors the sigh. What can she do? She's been too caught up in her soul mate mess, she's forgotten she's got more important things to do; something, like pulverizing her green bitch sister into a pile of ash, perhaps.

*****

 

It's not an easy task, she thinks as she stands underneath her apple tree and stares into the sky, it's not easy to cut herself away from the man who's held her together since she's arrived in this god forsaken land. At first, she has been so determined to shut him out, she even paid him off with a golden-tipped arrow to get him to bugger off of her life, but he's determined, and a month after knowing each other, he's been able to pry out bits and pieces of herself, pry out her grief over losing her son, with a steady shoulder and a hell lot of booze.

And she wants to  _not_  push him away, really, but that's not easy. She can't let herself believe in this happiness. It never does work out.

She sighs and shakes her head. She can't allow herself be too distracted. There's a green bitch looming outside this castle, waiting for a clean shot to get rid of her, or whatever plan that sister of hers has anyway. And getting herself entangled with Robin Hood (how proud would Mother be of her—of all people her soul mate is a thief) is not something she should be doing at the moment.

She wraps her arms around herself, jumping when she hears the sound of rustling behind her, feet shuffling, and she thinks that for a thief, he's not nearly as subtle as he is supposed to be. She sighs once more, before she turns around to face him.

"Robin," she says, a form of greeting, as she gives him one nod, and then looks away, the intensity of his gaze is too much, and nope, no, she can't stand that.

"It's a beautiful evening," Robin says as he walks closer to where she is standing. He wraps his own arms around himself and inhales deeply, letting the cold air fill his lungs and then exhaling loudly. He smiles and though it's a little strained, she thinks it's beautiful, thinks that Robin Hood is a beautiful specimen of a man.

She looks away from him, unaware that she's been staring, and sighs. She can't possibly be expected to control herself when he's this near, wreaking havoc on her raging nerves, making her heart pound and her head spin as his forest smell wafts into her nose, invading her senses.

"What are you doing?" she asks, not at all meaning to ask what he is doing at the moment, rather, what he is doing at all.

"Gazing up at the stars," he answers flippantly however, and she bites her tongue to keep down the retort burning at the edges.

"Don't be obstinate," she says instead, her voice soft and calm even if she is anything but. She gives him a long side glance, waiting for him to say something, anything.

"What do you want me to say, Regina?" he asks as though pained. Maybe he is. Maybe not. She supposes she'll never know. "One minute you're there, soft and pliant in my arms, willing…and then the next you push me away like I'm the dirt at the bottom of your shoe."

She doesn't know what to say, because that is exactly what she has been doing.

He turns to her, and grasps her shoulder to make her look at him too. She needs to escape, needs to run away, and goddamn it where is her magic when she needs it so? But his eyes trap hers and she can do nothing but look deeply into his, her heart pounding the whole time. The wind blows against them, like a draft, quick and cold, making her shiver, and she closes her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She needs to stop feeling things, needs to stop feeling like she needs him to hold her and never let her go. This isn't fair.

He leans in close to her, his lips but a breath away from hers, she is holding her breath, waiting for his next move, waiting for him to just take her and kiss her senseless and take away all her thoughts and doubts, and they can just get lost in each other, she'll forget about him being her soul mate and all of that business and they'll just enjoy each other, enjoy the coming together of their bodies as they finally just become one. Her eyes fall shut and her breaths come out in breathy gasps.

But he doesn't kiss her, not where she wants him to anyway, instead he presses a kiss against her cheek, then her brows, then her hair line before pulling her into his arms completely and burying his nose in her hair.

"I missed you," he admits softly, his voice muffled by her long, dark, silken locks.

She lets herself give in to the feeling, to being pressed against him for warmth, to being pushed deeper into the envelope of his arms, his body a surface, encompassing her in a heated embrace. She needs him, god, needs more of this man, but damn, she can't. Not just because she simply cannot be happy without her son here, but because if she loves him, she  _will_ lose him, like everyone else she has ever loved.

"You can't," she whispers as she orders herself to pull away. But her mind and her heart are not in sync, and her body feels too comfortable in his arms. "You have to stop this,  _we_  need to stop this."

He pulls away, infinitesimally, but she feels the lost vastly. She needs him closer, pressed closer to her that they won't know where she starts and where he ends.

"We aren't doing anything wrong," he insists, and he is right, this isn't wrong, god it feels so fucking right, but it's not really—not really right. She can't let herself be hurt again.

Hurt or be hurt, isn't it?

"I can't do this, Robin," she tells him and then she's pushing him away, and she's running, but she doesn't get far before he's running after her and she's being pulled back in his arms.

He soothes her, holds her, places kisses on her hair, and she's aware that she's trembling but god, she doesn't even care. She hears a voice inside her saying she shouldn't be here, but the voice dims until it's only a faded echo, until she doesn't care anymore, because right here, right here is where she belongs.

She looks up at him, brown eyes peering at ocean blue one, and she's lost, really, why does she even bother fighting this? But she can't, she can't do this. That green meddling moth has once told her that because of her selfishness, she's ruined Robin's life, is she really going to be selfish again and grab him, live a life with him when she knows it will eventually lead them both to heartache and pain?

She can't do that to him.

She loves him way too much for that.

Wait,  _what?_

But yes, yes, she does. She does love him. She doesn't know how or when, but she does. She's falling for him, loves him so deeply it almost hurts

And god, she's never felt like she's ever belonged more than she does in his arms.

**...**

 

He is holding her.

Lord god almighty after two weeks he is finally holding her. And he wants to keep holding on to her forever, wants to keep her in his arms forever, wants to scream at the rooftops (but that can come later), wants to just be with her like this, forever.

"Don't do that to me again," he almost pleads at her. "Don't pull yourself away and run when I get too close."

But she shakes her head at him and he is confused. How can anyone run so much from such a beautiful thing like love? How can anyone be so scared to grasp love and accept it, take it as it is…claim it as hers; because it  _is_ , his love and his heart are hers.

"Regina," he utters, and it's like a plaintive cry, and maybe it is. He doesn't even know anymore. All he knows is that he can't let her pull away from him, not anymore.

"I can't do this Robin," she tells him, and he can see the pain in her eyes, can see the hesitation. "I can't…"

"It's not wrong to be happy," he tells her because he does understand. When he's lost his wife it has taken him a while to realize that he  _can_  be happy, that he is allowed to be. "It's not betraying your son."

"He's all I have," she murmurs, the words entangling with each other as she rushes them out. But there are tears in her eyes, flowing down her cheek, and no, he can't have that, so he wipes it away with the pads of his thumbs, " _had,_ " she amends and she looks so positively heartbroken that he just wants to take her in his arms and  _never_  let her go.

"He'd want you to be happy," he says. "He'd want you to love again."

The gasp that escapes her lips does not go unnoticed, and he wants to ask but knows it is not the time to prod, so he settles for idle curiosity, peering up at her face for anything, a sign that her mind might be changing, but there is nothing. He only sees pain.

"But it's not just that," she tells him quietly.

"What are you so afraid of?" he asks, confused, wanting nothing more than to understand her, to help her, to heal her, and let her heal herself too.

"If I let go, truly let go, then I can't control…I don't have control anymore, and that's not…I feel as though I would just float away," she explains, the words that she's said to the fairy once when they've been stuck in that awful island called Neverland (and never it is, that she should return to that forsaken place) still holds true even now. "If I let you consume me I will disappear."

"This is not a power struggle, Regina," Robin tells her in a soft voice because no, this is not. He doesn't want to control her. He knows enough of her marriage (more through the words unspoken than those that have been) to know that she does  _not_  need saving, does not need anyone who would take away who she is and possess it, she is her own person. And why should he want that? She amazes him as she is. Why would he want to snuff out Regina Mills and mold her into his creation?

"It's not?" she asks as though surprised. Her eyes widen and her lips purse disbelievingly.

"Contrary to my former cavalierly actions, I've no desire to own you or posses you," he explains. "I just want to love you, to show you that you are worth the love you keep pushing away and running from."

"You can't love me," she exclaims horrified.

He shakes his head, gives her a sheepish grin and pulls her tighter into his arms, burrowing his face where she can't see it, and even when she struggles half heartedly out of his embrace, he doesn't let up, only holds on to her until she recedes and stays in his arms. He can't let her see his face, can't face hers, afraid he might see rejection in her eyes.

"Too late," he says softly, so softly, he's not sure she's even heard it had she not gasped, "I already do."

**...**

 

He loves  _her_.

He loves her.

And they haven't even had sex yet and he's giving her the words that she's never imagined coming from him—not that she thinks that sex should come first, just that she thought that he'd need more intimacy before them before he admits to that, before he feels that way for her, really.

She hasn't even thought that he would. She is the Evil Queen after all, and what man falls in love with the Evil Queen.

"You can't be," she insists, pushing at his chest until he lets go. She looks up at him and sees the pain in his eyes at her rejection. God, that hurts.

How could she let this happen?

How did this even happen at all?

This is so messed up. He isn't supposed to love her….or think that he loves her.

"You aren't," she says, shaking her head.

"Don't tell me what I feel, Regina," he says sharply, the pain he feels seeping through his voice and his words, and God, she can't even deny now that she feels something for him too. "What I feel for you, it's real. I'm not saying that I'm in love with you, well maybe I am, maybe I'm falling in love with you…I don't know. Right now, that's not even important. But I do love you, love you enough to know that…you are important to me."

Her feet shuffles and she wants to run, god, she  _needs_ to run away from him. But his grip is firm—but not hurtful, never hurtful—and his eyes speak volumes.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Regina," he tells her gently.

"No," she quips, needing to deflect him with a sharp tongue and equally sharp wit. "You just want to have sex with me."

The pain she sees in his eyes pierces through her heart—she doesn't like at all that she's put it there.

"No," he says. "No, that's not even it. I want you, of course, you know that already. You held my cock in your bloody hands, Regina, you know how much I want to bury it deep inside you, but that's not it. I don't want to  _just_  have sex with you. I want you to feel."

"I feel!" she tells him, because she does, it's true, feels things deeply, with her soul, why else would this hurt this badly?

"You do," he agrees. "But you run away, run so far and so fast. But I'm determined to be there and to hold you until you can no longer run away from me."

"Robin," she sighs. His words are too much, he is too much. This is not a romantic film for goodness sakes, or some trashy romantic novel. She's no damsel in distress and he's no hero (though in quite a lot of books he is). She doesn't need saving.

"Regina," he breathes out as he lets his forehead fall softly against hers. Her words are lost to her, and she doesn't know what she is about to say. His breath tickles her skin, and the intensity in which he lets his emotions run scares her, but she can't run now. "Let me be there. If you can't love me back, then let me love you."

Her breath hitches, her heart breaking apart in a thousand pieces only to come together to feel more strongly for him.

She wants this man.

She wants him and everything else be damned. Soul mates business be damned. And god, she'll put her heart on the line for him, even for a night, just to know, just to feel, for once how it is to be loved and to love, and to make love with someone, to be made love to and not fucked, for once.

She doesn't bother with a reply, only waves her hand and holds on to him as a cloud of purple smoke surrounds them. When she opens her eyes, they are in her bedroom, and she finds his confused blue ones looking at her in question.

She lets him go, steps back a bit, but not much for he won't let her far away, and gives him a nod.

**...**

 

"Love me," she tells him and he's not quite sure he's heard her right, not quite sure the words are tumbling from her lips because this can't be real, right? This has got to be a dream. But her lips are moving, words spilling from them, and it feels like angels are singing somewhere above them—if those are even real, but fairies are, so who's to say that they aren't, really?

He closes the distance between them once again (honestly, what is it with this woman and distance, he does not care for distance) and takes her lips in a heated kiss, passion seeping through, and he feels her respond, feels her kiss him back. God this woman is quite literally perfect for not only does she look and smell delicious, she also tastes delicious as well.

His hand comes up to tangle through her long hair (at the back of his mind, he thanks heavens he's caught her in such a time that the Evil Queen garb has all been shed, her hair loose and flowing down her back, makeup off, and she's not wearing those shoes that he's sure are designed to kill men). His other hand falls to the small of her back, pulling her closely. Her arms snake into around his neck, fingers tangling with his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. And good god almighty, she feels glorious. She fits into him like the puzzle piece he hasn't realized he's been missing all this time.

His tongue swipes at her lips, begging for entrance which she readily gives him with a moan. He traces the insides of her mouth with his tongue before he engages hers in a lustful dance. And he's kissed a few women (quite a lot, actually, especially when he's been so devastated with the loss of his wife he's ran so wild, but those days have long since passed), but nothing has ever come close to this—to kissing Regina Mills. She tastes of mint and apples and cinnamons and everything nice in this world and if he dies with one taste in his tongue, he wants it to be her—the taste of her.

When his tongue strokes hers, she lets slip another moan in his mouth, just as his hand slides lower from the small of her back to cup her bottom (her bottom which has distracted him to death whenever she sashays around the palace like the Queen that she is). He gives it a squeeze and grins against her mouth, making her pull away with a chuckle.

His lips find the luscious flesh of her neck and he sucks, sucks hard, nips and bites and sucks again. He soothes it with his tongue, elated when she lets out a breathless gasp.

"Robin," she whispers, as her hands come up to tangle with his locks.

He doubles his efforts, intent on making her gasp again as he pushes forward, making her walk backwards, until they both land on the bed. He crawls on top of her, letting his weight rest on his forearms rather than her, and then he lets go of her flesh to meet her lips again. She indulges him in a searing kiss before she's pulling away again.

"Wait," she whispers and he barely hides his groan as he lets his head fall onto the crook of her neck and shoulders.

He doesn't want to stop, really, no, but if that's what she wants, he will fucking go to sleep with a raging hard on. He won't force her.

"Roland—," she begins and he smiles, her mothering instincts have been what has drawn him to her in the first place.

"Is safely in bed, taken care of by Little John who won't let him out of his sight," Robin supplies as he looks up to the Queen's eyes. He gives her a smile.

"Very well," she says primly before she's struggling to get up and pushes him away slightly. He very nearly groans in protest, but obliges, letting her scamper to the other side of the bed and waiting her out. "Now, I want us to do something first."

"And what would that be, milady?" he asks, ready to do anything she asks of him at this point.

"Let's play a game," she says, smirking at him.

Oh, and of course she wants to play a bloody game.

**...**

 

The words are out before she has fully comprehended them, and no matter, it's okay, she likes to play games anyway—makes things more interesting.

"What game?" her thief asks, and she smirks at him before waving her hand and making a dozen scarves appear in her hands. He eyes her apprehensively. "You're into that?"

The utter horror in his face makes her laugh, laugh so hard that she has to bend over to her side and clutch at her stomach.

"No," she wheezes out, "Well, not really." She smirks at him again, then, winking at him for good measure. He waggles his eyebrows playfully, but suggestively and her smirk turns into a grin. "Some other time, thief."

"Then what's that for?" he asks her as his eyebrow raises.

She smiles at him. "It's for the game," she explains vaguely. Then her hands grasp the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it haphazardly across the room. "First I need you to be naked for me."

He looks apprehensive, but she smiles at him reassuringly, and so he stands from the bed, takes all of his clothes off, save for his shorts, she's asked him to keep that on. And then Regina ties the scarves around his head and over his eyes.

"No peeking," she instructs.

He snorts. "Yeah, as if that's possible," he says with a laugh. "You just tied a dozen scarves over my eyes."

She chuckles, leaning in to kiss him. "No, more like ten," she tells him with a laugh.

"How do we play the game?" he asks then, "aside from blinding me with these scarves?"

"I actually read this game somewhere, and you know, it's a great one," she begins. "It's simple: I'll ask you a few questions, and for every right answer, I'll take off a scarf and reward the sense of your choosing—sense of touch or taste. When you give me the wrong answer, you get a scarf tied around again." As she explains the rules to him, she is stripping herself naked, her garments lying on a messy heap on the floor.

He nods, seemingly comprehending the instructions well enough. She smiles, then, and tells him they should begin the game. The first few questions are easy, what her son's name is, her favorite fruit, least favorite munchkin, ( _dwarves_ , he corrects, and it's not as if she cares) and she rewards him accordingly, kisses him deeply or feeds him strawberries she's conjured with a flick of her wrists when he says sense of taste, lets him rub the skin of her stomach or cup her ass when he says touch.

Most of her questions are just random things, things she hasn't even expected for him to know, but he does and it elates her so much. When he answers a particularly hard question without a moment of hesitation (what is her favorite food to cook, and he says lasagna, and then admits sheepishly that he doesn't even know what that is, but that Granny has told him that the Queen makes the best one out all of them), and he asks to be rewarded with the sense of taste, she places her breast next to his mouth and lets him suck it for a solid minute.

**...**

 

He feels himself grow harder as the game progresses on. He has three scarves left over his eyes at the point, and his cock is straining against his shorts, throbbing, his pre-cum leaking and making a spot on the fabric. He feels her breath next to his ear the next moment, and the warm air against his already overheated skin enflames him even further.

She is a tease, a bloody tease he loves so much. God, he needs this game to be over. But lord, it feels so fucking good. He's missed a couple of questions—Snow's nickname as a child which he doesn't particularly care about anyway (it is bird, and it's not a surprise why birds have become her allies, really), and what is Regina's favorite flowers (he's said lilies, but it's a trick question, she doesn't like flowers, her castle used to be full of them, because Leopold has wanted to  _comfort_  the sad Queen, and from then on she's hated them—or that's what she's said anyway, bitterly).

"What's my middle name, Robin?" she asks as her hand falls to where he is currently hurting, throbbing, and cups him. He lets out a hiss, he will fucking explode in his shorts if she keeps this up.

He mulls it over, he knows that Snow's mentioned it once, when she is going on and on about how Regina's a stubborn, bull-headed woman, he knows this, he's done everything short of carving it in a wood to etch it in his memory, but her hands running up and down his clothed shaft is a distraction—a huge distraction, and he cries out.

"Focus, Robin," she instructs and he can hear her smirk even when he can't see it.

"Stop trying to make me come and I can," he snaps, and she laughs, a tinkle-y, dulcety tone that makes his heart melt in his chest.

"What's my middle name?" she repeats.

"It's—Catherine," he gasps just as she slips her hand in his shorts and grasps his length in her hand. "Regina Catherine Mills." He feels her press a kiss against his lips and he moans out when she lets him thrust against her hand for a little while before she's letting his shaft free, making him groan. "Regina," he whines.

She laughs. "One last Robin," she says, murmuring it against his ear before placing a soft, sweet kiss on the tip of his nose, making him smile despite himself.

"Wait I don't get a reward?" he asks cheekily.

Regina chuckles. "A handjob's not reward enough for you?" she asks laughing.

And he shakes his head pouting at her as she removes one scarf from his head. "No," he says. When she asks him which sense he wants to be rewarded he answers with, "Touch."

She grasps his wrist then, and takes it, leading it down, down, and he's not quite sure what she's doing but he trusts her, and he thinks that that's a good idea because he then feels wetness coating his fingers. He realizes where she's led his fingers and he moans out, her silky wetness and her warmth overloading his senses. She gasps out a moan when he moves his fingers, rubs it over to her slit, up and down, and then slips it inside, thrusting it slowly, letting her tight cunt envelope his fingers with its warm wetness and snug heat, but then soon, too soon, she's leading his hand away.

"One last," she all but breathes out and all he can do is nod.

"What do you want, Robin?" she asks, and really, she does know the answer to this already and he can say it in different ways, in different languages but it will all mean the same for there is one thing he wants, only one thing.

"I want you, Regina," he whispers, as though if he says it loudly the moment will break—but it won't, they've been too caught up in each other for the moment to be disturbed by anything. "I just want you."

She doesn't answer him, instead he leads his fingers to his mouth, lets him taste her, and god she tastes delicious, so fucking good, all he wants is to be able to devour her. They seem to be in sync as she finally, mercifully removes the last scarf away from his face and he opens his eyes, blinks rapidly until his vision clears, only to be greeted by her gloriously naked body, her watery smile and her brilliantly shining brown eyes.

"Then take me, thief," she tells him when their eyes lock with each other. "Take me."

**(***)**

She finally says it, finally says the words he's been longing to hear and she's been itching to say. She's going to give him her all, if only for the night, let him give her pleasure and a piece of her heart.

She stares at him, his chiseled chest and his pectorals moving as he crawls over to her. He stops before her, pulling her in his arms, making her land in his lap and kisses her, kisses her good and hard, stealing her breath away. He wastes no time, his tongue pushing into her mouth and he easily grants him access, her senses begging for a taste of him.

He is beautiful—like Michaelangelo's David, like a moonlight glowing over the seas, like the stars and the moon up in canvass, like the sun setting in the horizon. He is beautiful, and his character even more so. He is a wonderful man, and she really doesn't know how on earth he's ended up being her soul mate.

"Regina," he gasps out as he lets her lips go long enough to find the column of her neck and suck, bite, nip, tease and soothe it over with his warm tongue making her hiss out in pleasure. God in heavens, this man knows what he is doing.

"Robin," she whispers as her hands come up to play with his hair, fingers entangling, nails running over his scalp in light teasing motions that she knows gets him harder (the proof is solid beneath her, right in her core). She lets one hand fall into the waistband of his shorts and gives it a tug. "Take this off, outlaw."

He grins against her skin and lifts his hips up to her slide the garments off (it's a tad bit complicated as she is sat on his lap, but they manage, albeit a bit of entanglement). Her eyes fall to his bulging member, and god almighty, he is beautiful—has she said this already? Because he is, he is so beautiful. She's practically salivating at the sight of him.

She breathes out through her mouth audibly as she lets her hand encircle his thick shaft, running her fist up and down his length. He is watching her, his breath held, and she's not sure he's aware of that. She lets her thumb swipe at the pre-cum on his tip before she's leaning down, until she's face level with his shaft and she lets her tongue lick the soft satiny head. She hears him moan and she smirks before she's letting him slip into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing and her tongue flicking at him. He even tastes good.

She feels his hand cup the back of her head, his fingers carding through her tresses, pushing her hair back, and she looks up at him as she sucks him, sucks him in deeply that his tip touches the back of her throat.

He grunts, his hips buckling, and lets out a string of expletive that would have made Hook proud. "Love," he manages to breathe out. "If you don't stop this particular game will be over before it starts."

She grins wickedly at him, suck him roughly once more before letting him go with a pop. He pulls her up, hands closing around her upper arms and kisses her senseless once he's holding her, and then he's urging her to lay back. She does as he asks, her head resting comfortably against the pillow, her stomach clenching as he kisses her lips and makes a fiery path of wet kisses down her body, stopping over her navel to flick his tongue over the soft skin. He pushes her legs apart, draping them over his shoulders and his intentions are clear, so very clear, and she knows what is coming, but she still gasps out in surprise when his tongue touches her clit. She has to stifle a scream when he flicks his tongue against the engorged bundle of nerves, repeatedly.

"Robin," she whimpers as she drapes her forearm over her mouth to muffle any sound she might make, she never is sure who is listening or what can be heard outside. "Robin, oh," she cries out when he sucks her cit hard into his mouth.

He laps at her, his tongue flattening against her lit and then upwards, flicking at her nerve endings, making her whimper and thrash and moan, and god she needs something, anything now, needs to feel him fill her up and fuck her hard. He repeats the motion, moaning against her sex making her shudder in pure pleasure.

"Robin, I need—," what does she need? She needs him, needs to feel him, needs to cu—everything.

He tilts her hips slightly, as he sucks on her clit once more, sliding in two fingers in her core and thrusting them in and out, then he's tilting them, looking for her g-spot, and when he hits it, she cries out from the pleasure and she thinks she may come, thinks she might even pass out, it's just too good.

She cards her fingers through his hair, pulling, urging him closer, urging him to devour her if he can, and he rises up to the challenge, pushing her legs down and lapping up at her heartily, sucking, nipping, running his tongue all over her, until she's all tensed muscles and tingly nerves, until she's drawn out and she knows she's going to—oh, she's going to…

"Yes, my love, yes, come for me that's it," he says, letting up long enough to mutter the words before his mouth works on her again, intent on making her cum, and she is….god she is…

"Robin," she screams out as she cums, and cums, and cums, and he keeps thrusting his fingers in her as she rides out her orgasm, and god, she's never felt this pliant before, so wanton and so fucking boneless. She thinks she's died and gone to heaven, or whichever nirvana, because she's floating, she's sure of it.

He crawls on top of her, let's his heated skin touch hers and then he's kissing her, the taste of her in his tongue, and she , moans and purrs as her taste mixed with his invades her senses. They kiss for a little while, tongues twining, teeth clashing, moans passing through each other's mouth before Robin falls away.

"I need to make love to you now, my love," he whispers as he drops a kiss against her forehead, then her brown and then the tip of her nose. He lets his lips press against hers as she nods.

She spreads her legs wide for him and watches as he situates himself between her thighs, holding his member in his hand and letting it slip in her. Her eyes drift shut, and she hears him moan at the feeling of it, hears herself moan, too at the goodness of feeling so filled, of being complete, because he does—he completes her in a way she's never realized she needs to be completed.

"You feel amazing my sweets," he murmurs as he thrusts once, twice, in and out, slowly, before his hands grasp her hips, pulling her close, tilting it to where he's going to hit her g-spot. He can't wait anymore, that's for sure, and neither can she to be honest. "So bloody fucking amazing, so hot," he repeats in a husky whisper.

He continues his slow pace for a while, letting her feel his whole length slipping and sliding in and out of her and she throws her head back whenever he thrusts against that spot, her fingers clawing at him. He bites into her neck, muffling the sounds of pleasure he's making against her skin, and she manages to strangle out a scream when he thrusts hard against her once.

"Robin," she gasps out, "faster, baby, harder."

She needs to come now, needs more than anything to be thrown over the precipice and just let him come so hard, so deep inside her. And he obliges her, starts pounding into her hard and fast, lifting her legs and draping them on his shoulder before continuing to piston in and out of her cunt. She can feel it, can almost taste the orgasm, and she feels the world spinning around her, God, what is happening, and then she's coming, and coming, her orgasm drawn out from deep within her, blooming and then erupting and she's gone, gone far away.

He's still pounding inside her when she comes back down from her high, slower this time and she looks up to him to find his sweat-gleaned face all red and pursed in an effort to not come yet.

"Let go for me, thief," she says, the insulting name now falling as endearment from her lips and he grins at her.

She is surprised when he slips out of her completely, but then sighs in comprehension when he asks her to turn back around, and keep herself on all fours. When she's settled, he wastes no time pushing back inside her, and the new position is great, she feels him more, feels him slide in deeper if that is even at all possible, but it is, and he's pounding against her once more now, skin slapping skin, his hips hitting the soft flesh of her firm ass. She feels herself coming again, she needs to, once again, and he seems to know this as he slides his hand to her front, fondling her clit making her explode once more, the feel of her cunt coming all over his cock making him explode soon after with a shout of her name.

She is exhausted, she thinks as she keeps her eyes closed, lying spent and boneless in his arms when he gathers her body and settles her in bed. He settles in next to her, pulls the covers over them and hauls her in his arms, holding her tightly, holding her close, and at the back of her head, she thinks how great it is to sleep with this warmth surrounding her.

"Sleep tight, my Queen," is the last thing she hears from her thief before she drifts off to a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credits to LadyCobert (ff.net) for that awesome game.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 

 

She wakes up to the feeling of warmth, a solid weight pressing against her, encompassing her, and she likes that, likes the feeling. She acclimatizes to her surroundings without opening her eyes, feels a heavy weight pressing her down the mattress. She feels a bit of soreness between her legs, muscles not used for so long aching and protesting in a delicious way. She hasn't had sex for a year now, she thinks...since Graham. And after everything that's happened since Emma Swan has come to town and broke the curse, there hasn't been any time to even think about it.

A vague smell of forest wafts to her nose and she smiles, her heart warming.

 _Robin_.

She opens her eyes finally, and sure enough, she's pressed against him, her head lying against his shoulder as his arms are looped around her weight, holding her to him. She stretches in his arms, purring against his ear.

"Mmhmm," he hums, coming alive as she wiggles her body closer to him.

It's not morning yet, no, well, actually it  _is_ , but the sun hasn't risen yet, won't for another hour, she thinks, and the outside is dark and cold and quiet. The stars are shining from the sky, and the moon glows in its milky resplendence, but soon it will fade, she thinks.

"Hello," she whispers against his ear, nipping and then blowing her warm breath against it. She wriggles herself loose from his hold and cards her fingers through his blonde locks. He is so handsome, so adorable as he screws his face up, unwilling to wake up just yet.

But other parts of him are waking up, she thinks, as she feels him hardening against her hip, his wakening member poking her and lord help her, she wants him again. She lets her hand slip down his body, dragging it down his chest to his navel, down to where he is quickly waking up. She hears his sharp gasp when she runs the tip of her fingers through his length, his shudder one of pleasure, and she relishes in it.

She pulls away, hearing his grunt of displeasure, but she only chuckles, licks the entirety of her palm before going back to grasp his length fully, encircling it and pumping him.

That should wake him up.

She hears him murmur against her ear, something that sounds a lot like " _bloody hell, Regina_ ,", and she grins, before slithering her way down his gloriously naked body, trailing open mouthed kisses against his skin, sucking, biting, nipping, soothing over his skin with her tongue.

She stops only when she is face to face with his cock, grasps his hips with her hand to anchor herself, and pokes her tongue out of her mouth to give the head a lick. She hears him whimper, and it makes a pleased feeling bloom in her chest. He is craving pleasure, pleasure that she can give, that he wants her to give. Giving someone head is not something she's very keen on or very certain she's very good at. She's only ever done it twice before, both with Graham and only because he's asked it of her, but she doesn't think she's very capable in that department, but seeing him now, seeing his face contort in sheer pleasure as she swallows him in her mouth, sucking, licking, bobbing her head up and down to let him slip and slide in and out of her mouth, seeing him lose himself so, grunting her name every so often, she feels good-so fucking good that she's giving him pleasure.

She feels his hand rest at the back of her head, fingers carding through her long tresses, but he doesn't push, only rests there and lets her take him in at her own pace. She smiles, likes him even more for not pushing, and rewards him for it by sucking him deep and hard, his tip bumping and reaching the back of her throat.

"Gods, Regina," he groans loudly, and she feels wicked, so wicked right now. But he gives her hair a gentle tug. "Up, love," he begs, his voice husky and low, his accent all cockney and deep. It's more a strangled growl than anything.

She pats herself in the back internally and then sucks him once more before letting him go with a pop. She gives him a smug grin, licking her lips as she crawls over him to place a kiss on his.

"Good morning," she greets teasingly, her voice as light as she feels right now.

He doesn't reply, only growls and flips her onto her back, and she doesn't actually register what's happening before she feels his mouth on hers, devouring her, licking, giving her gentle nips, sucking her, before running his flattened tongue all over her.

She can't help it, she lets out a loud moan, mewling at the goodness of it. She feels her wetness flowing, feels herself getting more and more drenched by the minute. She whimpers, mewls, her hands coming up to play with her tits.

"Robin," she purrs, as she stretches out, her back arching when he sucks her clit hard and deep in his mouth.

He slips his hand underneath her, lifting her hips and angling her nether lips further into his mouth before he is slipping two fingers inside her. Thrusting deep and hard and fast and she's thrashing in the bed, arching her back, her hands grasping the duvet, fisting, clutching because the pleasure is too much. But she doesn't want to cum this way, no.

"Robin," but he doesn't let up, "Robin, I want to...want you in me," she pleads, and he finally lets her go from his mouth, lets his fingers slip out from her, and then crawls up to her body, kissing her deeply, and it's sloppy and wet, teeth clashing, his tongue slipping in, stroking against hers.

Then he's pulling away, rests his forehead against hers, his lips placing a kiss against the tip of her nose as he pushes in inside her, and god, she's already so wet, that he slips in so quickly. He takes her hand in his, entangling their fingers, and starts moving in her, thrusting slowly, his deep blue eyes finding hers and holding her gaze.

_Oh god._

"You're beautiful, Regina," he whispers.

And she's heard that said to her so many times before, in so many way, in so many languages, but it has never meant anything, not until now, not until he's said it in his a husky voice, deep blue eyes boring into hers, so pure and so sincere.

"So beautiful it almost hurts, it takes my breath away sometimes," he continues.

She feels tears prick at the back of her lids, but she doesn't want to cry, not right now. No she can't. And so she only just murmurs a soft thank you, before pulling him in close for a deep kiss and letting herself make love with him, as the sun finally bursts and is welcomed in the sky, ushering in another morning.

**...**

 

He sits on her bed, fully dressed and with a goofy smile blooming in his face. He watches her as she applies some red thing on her lips, wanting nothing else but to kiss it off her lips. The silence between them is companionable, not awkward, and he would be lying if he says that it's not surprising. He's expected her to close off, to be snappy, to be anxious, especially after their impromptu love making this morning, but she's neither of these things, rather, she's serene, warm, and she looks so happy, so pleased, content-if he may, and that's so pleasing to him. It makes him happy that he's contributed to that, that he's made her that way.

"Will you be coming to breakfast?" He asks her, breaking the silence.

She bites her lip before she looks at him through the mirror.

"I don't know," she replies. She never does join them for breakfast, lunch, sometimes, yes, and dinner most definitely (only because Princess Snow all but drags her), but she doesn't join them for breakfast, no.

"Roland would want you to be there," he tells her with a slight pout.

"Roland?" She asks, eyebrow raising at him in jest.

"He always asks for you," he informs her, and he is pleased by the fond smile blooming on her face at his statement. "He likes you."

"Just Roland?" She asks teasingly, sending him a coy look over her shoulder. And god, he wants to jump her right then. "His father doesn't?"

He stifles a laugh, bites his lip, the corners of his eye crinkling as he does so. "I can assure you, milady, the boy's father feels more than just like for you," he says, because it is true, and just because he can't say it explicitly and out loud, does not make it any less true.

He jumps out of bed and walks over to where she is sat, in front of her vanity table, and wraps his arms around her, placing soft kisses at the back of her neck.

"Come with us to breakfast," he says, pleading, as he rests his chin on her velvet-clad shoulder, nuzzling his nose to her cheek before looking at her in the mirror.

"Robin," she whines, and he can see her reluctance, can feel her hesitation, knows that she does want to, but isn't very keen because she's scared of what they think, of how she accepted she is by the people living with them at the castle (she is tolerated for the most part, for she is helping, some even accept her more warmly than others). But he also knows that partly, her reluctance is because of them, because she is afraid of what it means for them.

"Come on," he says lightly, because it might get her to agree easier if he makes no big deal out of it. "Your littlest knight is waiting for you."

She sighs, her shoulder sagging in resignation and lets him lift her up from her chair and lead her across the threshold of her room. She stops him, however, before he can open the door, taking his face in her hands and holding it between her hands, pulling him down and kissing him deeply. He is surprised, but it's a good surprise and takes only a short time before he's responding to her. He holds her by the waist, pulling her close and basking in the last moments of being together in private, and holding her close to him, without any resistance, without any eyes staring them down, without her hiding behind her ten layers of armor and pushing him out.

"Don't think this means that you can canoodle me in public or that this changes anything between us outside this door," she tells him sternly, and though he thinks it's partly teasing, he knows that it is also partly true.

He is lying if he says he's not disappointed, but he does realize that he's only chipped away some walls, a lot of them, but not all, and it's going to take time. And it's time that he will willingly wait for, for her, because she's worth it, even if she doesn't seem to think so, she is worth it to him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, smirking, making her laugh, and it's that laugh that draws him in, making him pull her close and land a kiss on her lips, makes him hold her tighter, and never wish to let go.

But let go he must, and so he does, placing one last kiss to her forehead before opening the door and they find their way out of that bedroom and into the great hall, her mask firmly back in place.

**(***)**

Roland is jumping up and down the moment she enters the great hall and he spots her. His father is not far behind from the queen, but he only greets his papa with a kiss, and then he's running back to queen, taking her hand and dragging her towards the tables. The queen laughs, surprised but quite happy about the enthusiasm in which the boy welcomes her with. It isn't something she is used to, being welcomed as enthusiastically (it has been a year since Henry's done that to her-welcomed her presence so happily), but it is pleasant, nevertheless, a balm to her aching heart. It isn't quite like having Henry here, but it does lessen the ache in her heart.

"Majesty, you're here!" Roland exclaims happily, her hand still clasped in his, "papa says not to disturb you in the mornings, but you still have to eat breakfast, don't you?"

The Queen chuckles, her other hand coming up to ruffle the boy's unruly curls. "Of course, my little knight," she tells him and he positively beams at the title she's granted him.

He is such a precious little boy.

She crouches down and lifts him up to her hips and kisses his cheek. She can feel his father boring holes on her back, he is staring at them too intensely, she thinks, but she doesn't let herself turn around to verify her assumption. Instead she pours her attention to the little boy and asks him what he wants to eat.

She walks to the buffet table with him still in her arms as he chatters away in her ears, treating her to his tales of dragon slaying and foraging and climbing trees and mountains, his imagination is vivid, as vivid as Henry's and it is times like this that the pain of losing her son is too intense, the little boy in her arms right now reminding her of the one she's held many, many times before, the one she can no longer hold now.

She fills his plate with food, after she puts him down and his hand grips her skirts, unwilling to let her go for a minute. He's grown attached to her, but she cannot really blame him, she has grown attached to him too, and as long as his father doesn't have anything negative to say about it, then she sees no problem to it (her Evil Queen days notwithstanding, besides they both know she isn't ever going to hurt the boy).

"Sit with us, Majesty," Roland pleads with the Queen, staring up at her with doe eyes and a pout, his dimple showing even when he does so.

They have reached the Merry Men's table, the boy's father already sat there, watching them as the scene unfolds. Roland's pout is enough to make a steel resolve melt, but the looks that some of the merry men exchange does not escape her. She is well aware of who they think she is, of who she is, thank you very much, no need to gawk like she's a raunchy display in a public place.

She knows they are uncomfortable, knows she will be, and she doesn't want that. She looks up at Robin and finds him pleading silently for her to stay, but she can't and she knows that, he knows that.

"Please Majesty," Roland repeats, and god, this child is so freaking adorable, it's unreal.

She looks down at him this time and smiles. "Hmm, how about you sit with me at the Royal's table instead? You can talk to Prince David about ogres and dragon slaying," she says, and that's a good solution, she thinks, as she only sets out to please the little boy.

"How about Papa?" He asks, looking at her as if she holds the world in her hands. Maybe, to him she does, he does think she is the Queen after all, and technically she is, or as Snow says, but actually, who the hell knows anymore?

"You see, only the bravest little knights are given that privilege" she explains smoothly, giving him a smile for good measure.

"My Papa is brave," he insists, making his father and some of the merry men chuckle.

The queen looks at him and taps his nose, before tickling his stomach, making him giggle. "But he's not the bravest Queen's knight, not as brave as you, is he?" She tells him, and he smiles, throws his arms around the Queen's legs, looking up at her with a smile.

"I'm your bravest knight, right, Gina?" He asks seriously.

She giggles, laughing at his cuteness, before nodding just as seriously. "Of course, my love," she tells him. "My most favorite, bravest knight."

The boy cheers before urging the Queen towards the royals' tables, his father all but forgotten as he chatters away again about how he is going to ask the prince about dragons, and if Prince David really slay a dragon, Gina?

She laughs, letting the boy lead the way, and ignoring the urge to look back at her thief.

**...**

 

"Are you really trusting the Evil Queen with your boy?" Alan A Dale asks him as he stares after the Queen and his son. His son looks so happy, so enthusiastic as he chatters away to the Queen, and the Queen listens with rapt attention as if whatever his boy is saying is something of utter importance.

The question makes Robin's blood boil, because can they not see that she is more than just the Evil Queen, that she was once one of the most powerful practitioners of magic who unleashed her wrath to innocent people in her pursuit of vengeance, that it is all true, that it was all true, but she is trying to change, that she is more than the evil moniker forever stapled to her name? How can they not see how great she is with his son, even if his boy reminds her so much of her own, it sometimes hurts he to even look at him. She has done so many terrible things, but she is trying to make up for them. And though that may take a long while, she is trying, she is making little steps towards it.

"I am perfectly sure that the Queen if perfectly capable of taking care of my son," Robin spats at Alan A Dale, taking the other man by surprise. Robin feels so fiercely about this, almost as fiercely as he feels for her. "So yes, I  _am_  trusting her with my son."

But if Alan ADale is surprised at the fierce way that Robin responds to him, it does not seem to deter him.

"But she's the Evil Queen!" Alan responds, hissing indignantly.

"And we're a bunch of smelly thieves she's let in her castle," he points out, and it makes very little sense, or at least lesser sense that what Alan seems to want to point at (what are thieves against a used to be powerful sorceress who also murdered villages because she wants to?), but he doesn't really care. He wants to defend her because he believes that she is more than just the Evil Queen, and he will.

"Begrudgingly so!" Alan reminds him, and it's true, he supposes, she has begrudgingly let them in, even just for Roland, for he knows that she cannot possibly leave out the little boy out in the forest when there is a green with and her winged minions on the lose.

"Then you can also begrudgingly shut up about your untoward judgment of her character, and thank her sincerely," Robin snaps before he stands up, no longer feeling like eating and he storms out of the room, vaguely aware of the eyes following him.

He isn't aware of the pair of dark brown eyes following his retreating figure with a frown.

**..**

He finds himself in the courtyard, sitting underneath her apple tree, marvelling over the fact that even pieces of her bring him comfort, not as much as she does, but it is comfort all the same, enough to tide him over until he can hold her in his arms.

He sighs, wonders how someone can be so embedded in his life after such a short time, how he can fall so deep and so hard, so quickly. He won't tell her, not yet, not until she's ready, but he is sure, certain of what he feels deep inside

"Your son's wondered where you went off to," he hears someone say from behind him and he jumps, startled, before he tilts his body slightly to the direction of the voice. "What tipped you off? You look thunderous when you left."

He sighs, doesn't really want to dig in deep about this with her, doesn't think he had to (rather, he's wished he doesn't have to).

"Nothing," he tells her, making her raise an eyebrow at him in sheer disbelief. "We have to stop meeting like this."

She gives him a fleeting smile before she walks towards him and takes his hand in hers. She doesn't give him a moment to make protest or even a reply before she waves her hand and they are disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

He stumbles a little bit, tries to regain his equilibrium, because he doesn't think he will ever get used to her preferred transportation. She is used to it, that much is clear, but maybe next time she can warn him (not that it would do anything, not really, but better he knows than be surprised).

She holds on to his hand, helping him with his balance, and he's only mildly aware of how he has his arms wrapped around her now, instead of just holding her hand. She smirks at him as she pulls away.

"Alright, thief?" She asks with more than just a hint of skugness in her voice. Really, she's used to this, he is not.

"Fine, Your Majesty," he says back, rolling his eyes at her pointedly. He then turns to look at where they are, notices how they are surrounded by trees, and he is confused. He isn't sure where they are, but knows they can't be away from the castle, she won't take that risk. "Where are we?"

"It's my secret garden," she tells him, shrugging her shoulders. He waits her out, sure that there is an explanation of some sort of how and why she knows about this place. "I found it when Leo and Snow were away, a few months after I married the king. I don't think he even knows about it. Not even Snow or my father. But some servant told me it used to be Ava's. I think it's the only time I ever thanked that woman for anything-even if she doesn't quite know it."

"Ah," is the only thing he says. He knows there is probably more to it than just that, but he also knows how she particularly loathes the time she's spent as the King's wife, knows how much she hates talking about it, so he asks nothing, she'll tell him what she wants when she wants to. He drops the conversation then. "Why are we here?"

She shrugs. "You need peace and quiet," she tells him, as though it's the most obvious thing. "And this offers you both."

He nods. She is right. But he thinks that there is no peace in the quiet, as his thoughts run wild in silence. But if she thinks that it will, then he's willing to try.

"I don't suppose there is peace wherever there is silence, there's always our thoughts that keep us company, but I guess, solitude offers insights," she tells him, and it's no surprise to him that she's profound, he is more surprised that they are that in sync that they have the same thoughts.

He offers no reply, only lets her intertwine her fingers with his and lead him, lead him to wherever she wants to go. They stop over some large tree, settling themselves under the shade, near a man-made bridge over a stream. It's a beautiful place, it's a wonder no one's discovered it but her.

"I have placed a concealment spell over it," she answers his unspoken question. "I didn't want to share, I still don't, but you look like you need it."

He nods, sighs as he wraps an arm around her shoulder. "It's beautiful," he tells her.

She sighs and snuggles deeper into his embrace. "I remodeled it when I learned magic, slowly, and I put that bridge over there," and she points her finger to the intricate looking bridge he's spotted before. "I tried to make it more like me, more of what I want, a piece of myself in a world that's not mine."

"It is," he affirms, reaching out to tuck an unruly strand of hair back to her ear and sliding his palm down her cheeks, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her skin. "It is a beautiful piece of you, as beautiful as you."

She blushes, and he smiles, feeling so much like floating, all the worries and agitated feelings he has had this morning evaporating, and all he thinks about is her, her impish smile, and her blush...and the way she's been so flushed from pleasure, writhing underneath him, moaning his name...which is totally not what she should think about right now when she's this close to him.

"Robin," she whispers, and he looks down to find her staring at him with dark eyes. She licks her lips, her gaze dropping to where he's hard and erect now, and he can't help the sigh that escapes him when her hand falls to his lap, caressing him through his jeans.

Jesus, this woman is deadly. Sexy, beautiful, intelligent, hot, and totally absolutely deadly—in every sense of the word.

"Regina," he whispers back at her, as he groans when she unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his trousers. He feels her warm hand reaching for him, grasping him in a gentle manner, but it is all together too much, especially since she's already clambered over him, teeth and tongue licking and biting his neck. "Fucking hell."

It does not take long before both of them are naked, and she's sinking into him, thrusting against him, hips circling, tits bouncing, and she's alternating between hard and fast and slow and deep, and god help him, if she doesn't stop this, he's going to cum.

But they cannot have that.

And so he latches on to her exposed nipples, sucking them hard and deep in his mouth, letting his tongue flicker over the sensitive peaks occasionally. He slides his hand between them, stopping over her little bundle of nerves and letting his finger play with them, flicking, pinching, teasing, until she's a mass of sobbing, clawing, wanton mess, and she's begging him "Robin, please, don't stop, don't stop."

He tilts her hips with one hand and starts thrusting against her, her hips fallin in sync with his thrusts and he can feel her tightening around him, her muscles clamping his cock, and good god, lord in heaven, he needs to come, can already feel himself coming. He fuses their mouths together, needing to taste her, as he continues to flick his fingers over her little bundle of nerves and his other hand anchors her, holds her tightly as she rides him up and down, and then she's coming and coming, and coming, and he's coming alongside her, his scream of pleasure muffled by her mouth on his. She's whimpering in his mouth too, turning boneless in his arms now and he snakes both his arms around her and holds her, tightly. She kisses her way down her chest from his lips and snuggles deeper, lets him hold her...and this, this is not what he has expected of her. He has actually thought she'd have been running by now, putting up walls and trying to push him out and away so fast. But such is not the case, and here she remains in his arms, warm and if her sigh is any indication, quite content, and he cannot possibly say he's complaining.

She waves her hand tiredly and with a cloud of smoke around them, they are now suddenly dressed, and he wonders if this means that she wants them to go now, he is about to ask her too, but the question disappears from his mind when she loops her arms around him and closes her eyes, promptly falling asleep.

He sighs contentedly and rests his cheek against her hair, falling asleep as well.

**...**

 

When she wakes, it's because she feels sticky and warm, too warm. She tries to orient herself, tries to think where the hell she is and how she's ended up there when she feels arms tightening around her, and she realizes exactly where she is and how she got there, and she stiffens. She knows that her stirring might have roused him slightly.

She feels glorious, in fact, she feels entirely  _too_ glorious that it's extremely hard to believe that this is her life now, that this is happening to her, that she has this. She feels like any moment now, someone is going to pull a plug on this, of course, and that someone would be another family member.

Then it's like a dam breaking and all her calm and content feelings from this morning are gone, replaced by anxiety and sadness. This will end up badly, she knows it.

She has long since given up on getting a true happy ending, true happiness, because whenever she believes in it, she gets a very rude awakening. She does not want to hold on too much hope on this one, because it probably won't last, pixie dust be damned.

The thoughts fester in her mind, and it makes her sad, makes her think of all the lost time, makes her think of how different everything would have been had she just walked in that damned tavern in the first place and met him, makes her think of her son, of Daniel, and of all the other lost happy endings. She knows it won't have had to turn out this way had she chosen the path of happiness and love instead of evil, knows that the green fairy is right, and she's been so selfish to have made the choice for the both of them (in her defense she's thought herself too much of a damage good and there was no way he'd have chosen to be with her, had she really gone in), knows that she can no longer have happy endings. It might have been fate that has led her to heartbreak and has taken her capacity for love for a really long time (though she does realize that it's never been gone, just buried with and by hatred), but it has been her choices that destroyed any chance for happiness.

She still thinks of it much later, when the sun has set and both she and Robin have done different things separately-she's sequestered herself in the library to research more on how to defeat her sister, and he's gone to delegate orders amongst his men and cater to his son.

But she does very little work and more thinking, more looming and brooding.

She doesn't really know what to think or how to feel at the moment, her thoughts from this afternoon has her reeling back from him. And she knows that he feels it too, she's been surly and sour and irritable since their little nap this afternoon, and she has been avoiding him again. She has even avoided dinner at the great hall and ate in the library instead, saying that she's onto something and does not want to waste time with fake pleasantries over at the dining hall, and if Snow is so insistent that she eats then can she bring the food to her instead? Snow has complied, and has stopped her prodding when Regina's snapped that it is for the defeat of the woman who wants to take her child.

Snow comes and goes, and the door opens and closes.

Regina hears ruckus coming from somewhere in the castle, and she thinks it's from the dining hall, thinks that the people sound happy, and her thoughts become louder, louder and louder until it drowns out the sound of whatever party is happening downstairs. It is not time for a party anyway.

So her thoughts resume, and never stops.

She feels anxiety gnawing at her when the night goes deeper and deeper and the always rambunctious castle now starts falling silent, save for the constant shuffling over the halls when the guards patrol for any signs of winged beasts or the lollipop guild courtesy of her vegetable-colored sister.

She knows her thief (and she tries to take that off her mind, he most definitely is not hers, and she lays no claim to him even if she spent hours fucking this man last night and this morning, the man she is fated to be with, as the pixie dusts have proclaimed), knows that he will be waiting for her. She knows that the moment she walks out of her safe sanctuary that is the library he will have had his son safe and asleep in his room, and he will be waiting at her chambers, will have been waiting there for hours, and she cannot escape him. She cannot escape the bright blue eyes looking at her with so much warmth that sometimes she feels like weeping, cannot possibly say no to the warmth of his embrace even if her head screams at her to take a fucking sprint away from him.

She is the great and terrible evil queen, the woman who has murdered and killed all for revenge, the same woman who ripped hearts out of people because she feels like it, crushed it because she is angered or upset without so much as batting an eyelash. But with him, she has run away from, continues to, actually. With him, she is vulnerable and she is just Regina...and she cannot have that.

She takes a few more hours of solace in the solitude, takes a few more calming breaths before she walks out of the library and onto her bedchambers where she is certain the thief will be waiting for her. It's just the man that he is to be so concerned over the welfare of others, even the Evil Queen. And that is completely ridiculous, because who the hell should even care about the Evil Queen right?

Mostly, Robin doesn't either...for he cares about  _her_ , the woman inside her, he cares about  _Regina Mills_.

That is very dangerous...what a dangerous place to be...and she wonders if she should end this now, they have after all, scratched the itch (though she does feel like it is not going to be scratched by one night, that it hasn't been, not really), she should end it before they both get hurt...before one of them dies, most probably him...she is destined to lose everyone she ever loves.

She takes a fortifying breath before she grasps the knob of her door turns it, pushing the door open, and being greeted by silence. But she knows that there is someone there, knows Robin is there, for the lights are dim, the room illuminated by a dozen lit candles, the light bouncing off and making faint shadows on the walls. Her eyes roam the room and then she stops, her eyes falling to her thief who is standing by the window sill, looking at her with a smile, a light one, not teasing, not smug, just a smile that makes her heart flutter about her chest, making butterflies appear in her stomach and a smile of the same nature to tug on her lips. She steps in the room, closes the door behind her and lets her feet carry her to him, to his arms which encircle her quickly, the moment she is within in reach.

He speaks nothing about this afternoon, speaks no words at all, only lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her, kisses her breath away, and tightens his arms around her, as his tongue slips in her mouth, making her moan and throw her own arms around his neck and deepen their kiss. Distinctly she hears another moan and it takes a minute to register that it is another one that she's made, the sound so foreign even to her ears.

He is the one to pull away first, and she groans at the loss of contact, making him chuckle-the deep baritone sound making her nerves tingle and for heat to pool somewhere low in her stomach, god, this man is sex, pure sex, and she wants him. Maybe, just maybe, she can live with just having parts of him, without having to love him or fall in love-fatl chance, she's already falling, fallen.

He takes a step back, and really—must he really put that much space between them? She thinks he's going to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bed but she is more than a little surprised when he takes his hand in his and bows down before her. He looks into her eyes, deeply, and she stares back at him, thinks that she can fall into them, drown into them without ever resurfacing.

"May I have this dance, milady?" He asks, and she is surprised. It seems to be apparent on her features as well for he chuckles, stands up and does not wait for her answer as he pulls her into his arms, one hand going to the small of her back, the other to her waist, his lips falling to her temples, brushing over her ear and making her shiver.

The things this man makes her feel are illegal, surely.

"Her Majesty has missed on the impromptu ball that's happened earlier at dinner," he informs her as they sway with each other, with no music but the dead silence of the night, and the beats of their hearts moving in synchrony, thumping against their chests.

She is baffled by the statement, and tells him so, and he proceeds to explain that one of his Merry Men has found a stringed instrument somewhere in the castle (she pays no mind to the fact that his men have been foraging in her castle, they could talk about that some other time, and really there is no harm done), and that upon finding the instrument, the merry men and Roland have decided to give free live entertainment over dinner and have begun playing...it's turned into somewhat a feast, with drinks flowing and laughter ringing out in the room. When the Merry Men started playing something more upbeat, a gypsy girl named Esmeralda started dancing and then people began joining in, and he swears he's even seen Granny Lucas swaying her hips to the music at one point.

She feels sorry she's missed that one.

He never stops swaying with her the entire time he tells his tale, and she feels like if she hasn't began falling for him since he's intervened in the forest when she's almost been caught by a flying monkey along with Snow- not that she'll ever admit that-she thinks she'll fall for him now. He is all smiles, dimple on full display and eyes so bright and so blue, and she feels lucky, so lucky that this man is her soul mate, that he is here even when he does not have to be, should not be, feels lucky and so afraid.

"We look silly," she tells him to dispel all her thoughts, she raises and eyebrow at him, one that he mirrors. "There is no music," she explains, and he nods.

But she doesn't want to tell him how moved she is by this, how great and cherished and scared shitless this makes her feel, because all of this feels right, he feels right, and when has anything gone right for her before?

Yep, that's right,  _never_.

 _Not yet,_  a traitorous voice whispers in her mind but she shuts that one up. No, she can't think about this.

"Ah, then we shall remedy that, shan't we?" He asks, but waits for no reply as he twirls her around the same time he starts humming a tune she doesn't quite know, but it does sound familiar-it's lovely, he has a great tune, and suddenly it just does not matter anymore when and where she's heard that tune, what matters is that she is hearing it now, in this moment, with him, and she knows that this is a memory she will forever cherish, one she will keep in her heart, and relive again and again when this, everything, eventually falls apart. At least, she has had this night with him.

He holds her in his arms, twirls her, sways with her, and then ends the song with her dipped on her back, his mouth fusing with hers, and when he pulls them upright, she can feel her heart somewhere at her feet, feels herself become a puddle of goo with too much feels.

They don't need any more words after that, because she makes short work of his night clothes, and when he struggles with hers, she flicks her hand makes her clothes disappear. They tumble onto the bed, mouths joined together, tongues stroking each other, and hands roaming all over each other's bodies. She feels heavy, heavy with emotions, and she can't handle love making right now. She can't handle too many emotions tonight, just needs to feel with her body and not her heart.

He seems to recognize this, because suddenly he is pulling away from her, grinning deliciously wicked over her way and leaves the bed. She watches his every movement, watches his firm ass as he crosses the expanse of her bedroom, to her vanity where a bowl of peaches lay.

Her eyebrow raises in amusement and wonder, but he only smirks at her, asks her to magic the fruit to being cold again (and she can't say she's not suspicious) and then asks if she can magic a scarf for them, just one this time, because he has tried to find one but he hasn't been able to.

She is suspicious but does as he bids, waves her hand, magic seeping from her fingers, turning the peaches to being cold again and she makes a red scarf appear in her hand for him, one that he ties around her head this time, earning himself a sarcastic 'tit for tat?' from her which makes him chuckle.

"No, my lady," he says, explaining, "but I have been told that the lack of one sense heightens the others, and after last night, I can attest that it does." She smirks at this, and he continues, patting her thigh lightly, "So lay back my Queen, better yet, get on all fours."

"What are you planning, Robin of Locksley?" She asks, her voice low and husky, and seductive as she shakes her hips slightly when she presents her ass to him. She is bare, all of her clothes a scattered mess all over the room, and he is too, and goddamn it, she is so fucking excited, could actually literally feel her nerves thrumming in her body, feel wetness trickling down her thighs and they have barely started.

"Oh nothing," he responds, his voice teasing and though she can't see him at the moment, she can hear his shit-eating-grin. "Nothing much, my lady, you just relax and let me take care of you."

 _Fuck_.

Let the games begin.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

She feels a chill run down her spine, out of excitement and thrill, half out of fear, because who actually knows what is going to happen here, tonight. The peaches are not something she usually she dabbles on with when it comes to sex, on desserts, yes—though, maybe  _this_  can count as dessert—she grins salaciously at the thought.

She feels Robin's fingers trail down her spine and she shivers lightly, her knees trembling and her core becoming damper and damper by the minute. Robin needs to either get her off or she'll get off herself. She lets one hand trail down to where the heat and the wetness are pooling, growing by the second, her shaking fingers immediately finding her wet clit and she flicks over the tensed nub lightly, once, twice, until a soft " _oh_ " slips from her mouth. She feels Robin slap her fingers away not a moment later and then feels him bring them to her mouth, sucking them hard making her gasp once more.

God.

"No, my love, not yet," he whispers to her ear, gruffly, his warm breath hitting her skin and she shivers once more. He licks the shell of her ear before taking her lobe in his mouth and sucking, and she thinks she may come. "Do I have to tie you down, as well, your majesty?" he asks.

She shakes her head, that would be a thrilling thought, but no she does not want to be restrained, wants to be able to touch him when she pleases. Surely he cannot, won't deny her that?

She feels the loss of contact so keenly when he lets up, his body heat disappearing as well, and she hears some shuffling in the background. He is right, losing her sight has made her other senses sharper, and she can hear a lot more, feel more acutely.

She licks her lips, her nerves are tingling, and she waits  _im-_ patiently for his next move. She brings her hands to the headboard and holds on to the sturdy piece of wood as she rests her cheek on the pillow. But she needs not wait long for in the next second he is urging her to lay on her back, says she's going back to that position a bit later, but for now he needs her on her back. She complies, flips herself on her back to the bed with his help.

She wonders what he is planning, but she does not wonder long when she feels the sticky, cold fruit trailing a path down from her lips to her navel, the coldness of it making a thrill go up her spine. And then he is guiding it to her mouth, and she opens, bites in and chews thoughtfully, the juice dribbling on her chin.

"Is that good?" he asks, his voice dripping of lust, and she moans, nods, unable to speak. "Answer me," he says unsatisfied with her not voicing out her affirmation.

"Yes," she chokes out, reminding herself to breathe in, breathe out, she's okay, she just needs to come, very badly, actually.

She hears him chuckle, damn him, and then he's thrusting his tongue inside her mouth (not that she minds, to be honest), and she kisses him back fiercely, the taste of him and the sweet fruit mingling in her mouth, and lord jesus, it does taste good, so fucking good.

He lets her mouth go, and she whimpers, needing more of him, needing to taste more of him, but he only guides the fruit in her mouth once more before taking her lips again, repeating the process until the cold treat is finished.

"Delicious," she comments lightly, licking her lips, feeling satisfied as she hears him growl.

He doesn't reply however, only trails his finger down her body, his tongue following the path his fingers make on her skin. He flicks his tongue over her left nipple, then sucks, bites down, soothes, then sucks again, making her moan and writhe underneath him, feeling her sheets getting damp too, now that her wetness is seeping from her. He pays the same attention to her other breast, and God, god, she needs to be reminded why the hell she has decided not to enter that fucking tavern all those years ago…they could have been doing this for decades. But now is not the time for bitter regrets or remorse (and really, there is very little to regret, she would have never had her son had things gone differently, and neither would he—and really, having their sons, his and hers, it makes up for all the past mistakes).

Her thoughts flee her mind however when she feels him reach her center, his tongue flicking at the soft skin just underneath her navel, his lips tracing kisses down her pelvic bones, down to where her hip and thighs meet (a particularly sensitive spot that has her moaning out loud when he decided to suck the skin there, has her opening her legs wider). Then she can feel his stubble tickling her thighs, and she can't recall now how many times she's imagined this very scene, imagined him eating her out and having his stubble roughly graze her skin in a delicious way that would surely leave marks in the morning—but it should be well worth it, it is fucking well worth it.

"Robin," she gasps out when she feels his flattened tongue run all over her, licking her, and god she needs more, needs more of him. She cards her fingers through his ash blonde hair and tugs, gently, softly, just to encourage him to give her more.

His hands push her thighs back before he slips two fingers inside her, and thrusts in and out, lightly, not enough, not nearly enough, and then he pulls them out, too quickly, making her groan in frustration. Damn him.

It's nothing short of a surprise, and it does make her jump, when she feels a cold, sticky thing touching her clit, and it takes her a moment to realize that it is the peach, that damned fruit, and she now understands why he needs it cold.

She doesn't have much time to take it all in, however, before he is running the sweet fruit all over her sex, flicking the cold treat over her clit a few times (the coldness does things to her, makes her shiver, more than the actual fruit, and the thought of the fruit being used this way—well it's so fucking dirty and so fucking pleasurable at the same time), and then he's pushing it towards her slit, thrusting a few times, it doesn't completely push inside her, but she feels just enough to have her writhing and arching her back, her hands fisting the duvet, clutching tightly until her knuckles turn white, and then he pulls it out of her, lets his tongue run all over where the fruit had been. He keeps the play up for a few minutes before he stops all together, making her want to claw his eyes out.

Then he's suddenly leaving her core, his body slithering up hers, and she feels so fucking disappointed, she wants to cum, needs to cum. But he pushes the fruit in her mouth, lets her taste herself with the sweetness of the fruit (she needs to wash her core so much later, she can't let herself have some sort of an infection over some stupid kinky move whilst fucking), and she moans, moans loudly, only muffled by his mouth on hers, tasting her and tasting the fruit.

When the fruit is all but devoured, he urges her to get back on all fours, and she does, even if her legs are wobbly and she highly doubts she can ever stay in this position for long. She fucking  _needs_ to cum, alright?

She settles herself, her cheek pressing against the soft pillow as her arms lay lax on both her sides. She feels Robin shuffle behind her and then his mouth on her in an instant, devouring her, French kissing the hell out of her nether lips and all she can do it gasp out and moan and writhe, arch her back and thrust against him. It doesn't take long before she's exploding, her womb tightening, and then spasming and she's cumming and cumming, cumming, lord Jesus.

She feels him grasp her hips, holding her still, and then he thrusts inside her, giving her very little time to adjust (not that she needs it, she's throbbing and dilating—needing nothing else but his shaft filling her in quickly), and then he's in and out, in and out, fast and hard, his hand falling away to her front to thumb her little bundle of nerves before she's exploding once more. But he still thrusts inside her, riding her through her orgasm, and she feels another one blooming inside her again. He latches on her neck this time, and she pulls up, her hands holding on to the headboard for purchase as he pistons in and out of her in an incredible speed and intensity (he's still gentle enough that it doesn't hurt, but it's delightful to know that he's quickly losing himself in pleasure).

He slithers his right hand over to her breasts, rolling and tugging at her rosy peaks, while his left continues to flick over her clit as he continues to hit that spot that has her clawing and babbling, repeating over and over again that he should not stop, don't stop, don't stop, please, Robin, God, oh, and then he's thrusts into her, hard, and pinches her nipple and her clit all at the same time and that has her coming again, with him not far behind, her name falling from his lips, as she too makes a loud sound of pleasure that she's sure she's never made in her life. And she falls into the bed, her arms all tired out, and he falls onto her back, his weight pressing on to her deliciously, both spent.

This is heaven. This is fucking heaven.

At the back of her head, she thinks, this is what a soul mate feels like.

**(***)**

He watches her in her sleep; not in a creepy way (or hopefully it doesn't look that way), but just watches her, admires her, and wonders to himself what he has done in his life to be deserving of such a woman.

She is not his, that he knows, because she is not a possession and she will most definitely take his balls out with her own bear hands and char him to crisp if he even thinks otherwise (not that he can or ever will, she is his own person—something that he admires most about her), but still, the fact that she's here, in his arms—well, that's saying something, a lot something. And it sends him right into heaven. It's a pleasure he's never known he desires, never knows how much it means to him until he's actually doing it.

She is a picture of worry and anxiety as she sleeps deeply(but still a beauty, always a beauty), her breathing is even but her eyebrows are furrowing, lips pursing, and occasionally, she'd let out a whimper as if she'd been dreaming of something displeasing or troubling. He doesn't want to wake her, not really, no, but he finds himself unable to keep his hands off of her and he reaches out to her, rubs his thumb over the soft skin on the space between her forehead where her eyebrows meet. He smoothes it out until the crease disappear, smoothes her worries out (and even when he knows that it doesn't necessarily work that way, he'd like for her to feel that she needs not be distressed, she isn't alone, someone is there), tries to comfort her, and it does work for she visibly relaxes, her eyebrows unknotting, and her tensed shoulders drop.

He smiles. That is better, that she is calmer, relaxed, she looks more peaceful and he feels pleased about it—not that he thinks he has any right to, but he does anyway. He feels something flutter in his chest, making his heart beat faster as she sighs when he drops his hand down to her cheeks and caressed her soft skin gently.

He watches her until she stirs, until her eyelids flutter and she's scrunches up her, stretching her back against the soft bed. He taps her nose softly and then ducks down to kiss her softly.

"Morning, your majesty," he mumbles against her lips, feeling her smile as she throws her hands around his neck and hug him closer before letting her go. "It's still quite early."

And it is, the sun has barely risen yet, the skies still a dark shade of indigo. Or is that purple? He doesn't know, can't really tell, doesn't really care, not when he has her in his arms, soft and pliant and wonderful and warm.

"It's time for you to leave, too," she says, her words barely intelligible because of her rasp. She does sound a bit more gravelly in the morning, when she's just woken up and still has sleep laden eyes.

"Hmm," he hums as he moves his lips down her neck, placing a soft kiss there then poking his tongue out to get a taste of sweet-salty skin. He tastes a bit of the fruit from last night on her skin and chuckles. "You still taste a little like peaches."

She groans and smacks his arms. "Whose fault is that?" she asks, eyebrow cocking as he pulls away from her with a smug smirk.

"I take full credit, your Majesty," he says, as he reaches over to push back an errant lock of hair behind her ear and give her a shit eating grin. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

Well, because he certainly did.

She grins back at him. "Well I never said that," she laughs, pushing him off of her and climbing down the bed. He groans, not really wanting her to leave the bed yet, he could use some cuddle time (yeah, well, he's in too deep, alright). She apparently hears his groan because she laughs, halfway through plucking her bathrobe from her dresser and turns her head over her shoulder to give him a coy look. "I'm going to wash off this sticky fruit off of my body, want to wash it with me?"

(They already have haphazardly cleaned off the night before; she's insisted when he's protested, so he knows exactly what this is, what she wants, what  _he_ too wants).

Then she's winking at him, and Christ almighty, she is a desirable woman—the woman he is so in love with, without reasons or logic, knowing no limits or bounds, he just is.

And well, of course, he's dashing out of bed, following his siren to her expansive bathroom to  _help_  her  _wash off_.

**(***)**

This is  _not_  a relationship. They are not together and this is  **not** a relationship.

That is at least what Regina tells herself on the third—or is the fourth?—week that Robin has found himself in her bed (always her bedroom, lesser chance of being caught) come morning after a night of passion.

It is  _not_ , not really, she thinks. They are not like that. He isn't hers and she isn't his. And it's a bit like what she used to have with Graham, only Robin has is heart, and she  _does_  feel something more than just lust for him, more than just needing to have an itch scratched.

Still, this is not a relationship, not a fairytale like the  _un-Charmings,_ and Regina will be damned if she thinks otherwise. But it's hard not to think otherwise when they have spent practically all of the past three weeks together, inseparable by morning and tangled under the sheets by night.

But, no, no Regina, hold your horses, this is not a relationship.

So when he asks her if he can steal her away from dinner one night, under the pretense of scaling the parameter together, he says (and that would have worked as there had been another attack of flying monkeys just last week) or some other bullshit they can make up that Snow and Charming would buy, she hesitates. She hesitates because fuck buddies don't do that, people with no strings attached don't do that,  _Regina_  doesn't do…well,  _that_ —the romance side of all this, the being wooed part and courted and wined and dined, because let's face it, who in their right minds would want to date the Evil Queen? Yep, that's right, no one.

No one but Robin, it seems.

But did or did she not tell herself that this is a bad idea for about a hundred thousand times? It is, it is a bad idea.

Still Robin tries, asks her to accompany him, they could even bring Roland if she likes, and they could just say it's Roland's request, and then it'd be safe (though he hasn't explicitly said that, he means it that way, she's sure), it'd be safe because there is a child with them, and no one would suspect for it to be anything more, besides he's not likely to cozy up with her when Roland is present, lest the kid gets the wrong idea and babbles on about Daddy and his Gina kissing under the big oak tree.

She tells him then that she'll think about it, and he's asked that two days ago, yet here she is, sitting under the shade of her apple tree, looking up at the stars and wondering how the hell has she gotten herself into this.

She looks up to the way of the castle and finds Snow coming over towards her, wrapped in a thick coat, looking at her with a tired smile.

"I thought you're supposed to be in bed?" Regina asks, eyebrow raising as Snow takes a seat beside her.

Snow shakes her head and looks down to her bulging stomach, her hand coming up to rub her side. "The baby doesn't want to rest, he thinks my bladder is a squeeze toy and that he also wants to practice football while still in the womb," Snow says with a fond smile, clearly saying that this might not be ideal, but she's not bothered by it the least bit.

Regina lets out a soft chuckle, but offers no reply—she doesn't really know what to say to that, so she settles for silence.

"You know I've always loved this apple tree of yours," Snow says after a few beats of silence. Regina looks towards her in surprise, to which Snow only smiles. "I always thought it's every bit as regal as you are, to be honest."

It weighs down heavily on Regina how much Snow has really idolized her as a child. She hasn't been the best role model, hating Snow silently, simpering with the need to kill Snow in every torturous way she knows, wanting nothing more than to escape the fate that she's so believed Snow has subjected her to. She was so consumed by hate that time that she hasn't really cared about Snow's feelings.

"I'm sorry, Snow," Regina says quietly, timidly, murmuring the words that it almost doesn't sound intelligible at all. She doesn't feel quite comfortable, at all, to be honest, but she needs to get it out, if nothing more than to just finally, fully bury the hatchet between them. Of course, she is under no delusion that everything will be forgotten, but they could at least start anew, start to forgive. "I—I've been…there are so many things I've done that I regret now…and I," she tries to get out the words but they stay stuck in her throat.

But Snow takes her hand in hers, gives it a gentle squeeze that has her looking up at the young girl who is now a woman herself. "It's more complicated than we imagine Regina," she says with a soft smile. "The person who did that, that was who you used to be, but you're trying to change now, and the least I could do is give you a chance—a chance that you do deserve."

Regina feels tears prickle at the back of her eyes, but she tells herself not to cry, instead she looks at Snow and gives her a small, watery smile, speaking the words she cannot say with it, and squeezing Snow's hand in gratitude.

"And I'm sorry too," Snow says. "I played a role in your misery…and I'm sorry."

Regina nods, it's true, but it's in the past, so many things has happened, and really, had it happened otherwise, had things  _not_  happened the way they had, she would have never had the chance to find her son and love him.

"It's in the past now," Regina says with another squeeze of Snow's hand.

Snow nods, looks thoughtful for a moment—Regina can almost see the wheels turning in her head, and really, Snow can never be subtle if she tries. Regina watches with a modicum of amusement as Snow bites down her lip, apparently wanting to ask something but unsure if she should, lest she irks Regina.

"What is it Snow White?" Regina asks with a smirk.

Snow chuckles, shakes her head, "What's with you and Robin?" she asks.

If it's possible to turn as red as tomato from head to toe with just one simple question, Regina is sure that she has done that by now, this is certainly not the question she wants to answer, not sure if she  _can_ answer it, to be quite honest (but really, what does she expect of Snow?), but she tries not to let the embarrassment show. Or is it confusion? Confusion because she doesn't really know what's up with them.

"Why do you ask?" Regina asks, throwing Snow a side glance, and mentally patting herself on the back over the fact that she hasn't actually stammered like a fool.

"Nothing," Snow says, shrugging. She brings her free hand down to her stomach (Regina hasn't notice that they are still holding on to each other until she does, but she doesn't pull away) and rubs softly over to where her baby is probably kicking. "You just seemed to be joined at the hip lately."

Ah. Well, that's better than having been caught, right?

"He's the best tracker, and I'm the only wielder of magic in this side of the fictional Alps," Regina reasons, and it's true, he is the best tracker in the castle, and she's the only sorceress in the land, it makes sense that they're on to one adventure after another (and if they end up giving each other head underneath the shades in the middle of the forest, or if she walks home feeling sated with moisture between her legs and he with a smug grin, well, no one needs to know that). Only, she supposes it doesn't make sense that they're together all the time when only a few months back they were at each other's throats. She frowns. "Well, not including the green scarecrow intent on destroying me, and threatening your child in the process."

"I'm just surprised you haven't killed each other yet," Snow says, shrugging again. And Regina knows she's referring to her and Robin.

Regina tries hard not to bite her lip and flush, bites the inside of her cheek instead and schools her expression to a more passive one. "We've come to a truce," she says dismissively, waving her hand to emphasize her point.

Snow only hums, nods. "Well, if it turns anything more—," Snow begins to say, but Regina cuts her off with a wave of her hand.

"It's not going to be any of your business," Regina says cuttingly, really, she has better things to do than to gossip about boys, things like finding a way to turn her sister into a pile of ash.

"I know that," Snow says, placating, throwing her hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Just if it does…let your heart heal and learn to love again…don't let anything hold you back."

Regina shakes her head, offers her silence as a reply, because, really, what can she say? She  _is_  already halfway there…halfway to the point of no return if she isn't there already…halfway to being irrevocably, truly, unchangingly in love with the man with the lion tattoo.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It's that damned lion tattoo.

She's convinced that it's mocking her, one way or the other, she's sure that it is. She seems to see that lion tattoo all the time, and granted, she sees him with far less articles of clothing these days, still, she can't help but feel mocked by the stupid lion tattoo.

It's really just a tattoo, for god's sake.

Only it's not, it's something more, it's something that speaks of so many things she's rather not have or give the time to think about. It speaks of a future now unknown because of all the choices she'd made, speaks of all the possibilities that have been lost to her, of a hopeless and bitter past, of lost hopes and lost loves and lost chances, of a time she lost her very self. And it's stupid, the amount of things entailed by it because it's just a stupid ink drawing etched on his skin, and it should be, yet Regina knows (and the green moth who has placed this burden of knowing would agree, if she'd only known that Regina's found him—her soul mate, the man with the lion tattoo), the said tattoo means more than nothing, in fact it means  _everything._

It's a symbol of a time that the fates have unjustly (for him anyway, she thinks) marked him as her soul mate.

It's actually really annoying how Regina seems to always find herself thinking about all of these when she should be focusing on how to defeat her green, vengeful sister. She's gotten nowhere with it, begrudgingly she admits that, and she's hit brick wall after brick wall trying to figure out a way to defeat the green bitch (and she has been a tad bit distracted as of late, spending her nights with her thief between her thighs, or sometimes, the other way around). But she is a fighter, a survivor, she is not a quitter, and she perseveres to find a way.

It can't be helped however that there are days when frustration runs high, and it is the time she finds she thinks most about Robin, about how he is her soul mate and all that business, along with her not-anymore-so-addled feelings for the thief. Even now as she's sequestered herself in the library with the hopes of distracting herself long enough to find something that might be useful, to even just get away from everyone, even her lover (and he is, she realizes, physically anyway, if she fancies herself still so deep in her denial about her feelings for the man—and she should really stop over thinking things).

She's been here for hours, ever since lunch, and only going out for an hour of play with Roland who had sneaked off from his father's supervision to come and see her, flash his dimples at her to beg her to play. There was no way she can say no to him, no way she would, no way she could, so she's played with him, taught him numbers while she's at it, until the boy's father had come to find him, admonishing him for running away (even when Regina knows that Robin had known where his son had gallivanted off to—to the Queen's side, of course, always to the Queen's side, it's a Locksley thing). Robin had hauled Roland off to his shoulder and carted him off to his own bedroom for nap time. Roland had protested, threw in a pout and a doe-eyed look that Regina could, under no circumstances, refuse, but Robin  _had_  refused it, insisting that the Queen had some adult stuff to do now, had been resolute that the dimpled hobbit should not disturb the Queen and that Roland would see her later. Roland had then asked what the Queen is about to do, and Robin tells the boy that Queen needs to find ways to defeat the flying monkeys—which had then had the boy telling his own tale of how he had been attacked by those very monkeys but Gina saved him, and did daddy see that? And yes of course, Daddy did see that, he was there too, and to which the boy answered with an adorable giggle.

Regina had stood there, watching them silently with amusement, her lips tipping up at the corners because her heart is swelling with the adoration she feels for the two dimpled thief that have stolen her heart. She feels it growing by the minute, and the more she spends time with them, the more she falls in love with the father and son duo.

She realizes then that they are too embedded in her life now that it is getting harder and harder to detach.

The door of the library creaks open and squeaks close with a dull thud, the sound permeating through her brain and breaking through her thought, and Regina looks up to find one green fairy staring up at her with an unreadable look. Regina raises her eyebrow at the fairy, asking questions without saying the words.

"What?" she asks the fairy when she is met only by silence, disturbed only by the ruffling of skirts and the sound of Tinkerbelle's ass plopping against the cushioned seat.

"You've found him," Tinkerbelle says and there is no doubt in Regina's mind who the fairy is talking about. Tinkerbelle's raised eyebrow says more than her words do, as well, and Regina feels her heart stutter in her chest. "You've never told me."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Well, I'm sorry to inform you, moth, but I have better things to do than gossip about boys, namely, reduce my sister into a pile of ash or something equally as painful."

Tinkerbelle rolls her eyes too, at this, and sighs exasperatedly as if Regina is one petulant child. "And on the times that you aren't, I suppose you've been doing productive things with  _him._ "

If it is at all possible, Regina is sure that her eyebrow had shot up to her hairline. She bites the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from snapping, because yes, yes she's been doing things with  _him_ , not all productive, but pleasurable, sure.

"That's none of your business," she snaps, trying to derail the conversation entirely, trying to get the meddling fairy off her business.

But it does the opposite, in fact, it has Tinkerbelle smiling in glee, squealing in the damned annoying way that Regina can only classify coming from groupies. "So you  _have_  been doing things with him?" she half asks, half exclaims, her smile threatening to split her face apart, and it would almost have been comical, if Regina isn't annoyed at her.

"What part of it's none of your business did you not understand?" Regina asks in a displeased tone, her lips pursing and her forehead creasing.

"The part where I basically made this happen," Tinkerbelle says and it has Regina rolling her eyes. Tinkerbelle frowns at her. "I led him to you in that tavern."

"Correction,  _pixie dust_  led me to him," Regina sasses back. " _You_  stole that pixie dust."

Tinkerbelle shakes her head. "Sacrificing everything I had, everything of value to me, to help you. You needed the help, then, asked for it in the deepest corners of your heart, always have turned to the fairies before…long before you were Queen."

"And what did that get me exactly? I was ignored by the fairies because what? I had an evil mother," Regina snaps, finally angry. "You weren't there when I turned to you when my mother ripped my true love's heart out of his chest and crushed it right in front my eyes so she can take away the hindrance and sell me to the highest bidder and I had wished, wished so hard for someone, something to take me away or take away the pain."

"I came through for you, Regina," the fairy says in her defense. "I came to your aide."

And perhaps this isn't her fault, not entirely, and perhaps Regina knows that, but it's easier to lash out. It's easier to get so mad, when her life hadn't really worked out well, and here she is, scared to the very depth of her soul that she might lose another love—because that's how it all plays out, anyway.

"You came through at a bad time," Regina barks. "You came through for me and led me to my soul mate when I was married to the King and he could have had me and him killed and executed. You came through for me and led me to him when I was broken beyond repair, when I believed that there is nothing I could offer him, that I wasn't enough, when I had  _nothing_  and you wonder how hard it was for me to let go of the anger, of the last thing that tethered me to the ground and kept me alive? You came through for me, Tinkerbelle, but you didn't come through at the right time."

The hurt that flashed across the fairy's face is not something Regina would be likely to forget soon, or ever, and Regina could feel her chest heaving, finally feeling some tension finally leave her.

But the pain lingers, leaves a dull niggling feeling, a bout of bitterness wrought from years and years of pain and longing, of the times she had desperately needed the light, for someone to save her and show her that there was more to life than the desperation that she'd felt from the one she'd been given, and yes maybe, the life she's led was a product of the choices she'd made, but maybe if there had been someone, anyone, things might have turned out differently.

"Everything you had to go through made you who you are now," Tinkerbelle tells her with a gentle voice, her sadness palpable with the way her lips turn into a frown and with the way the twinkle in her eyes dissipates.

"Yeah, well, I don't think anyone's thinking it's all that wonderful to be the Evil Queen, to be who I am," Regina quips with a roll of her eyes.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, Regina," Tinkerbelle says, and it reminds Regina of Robin, of her thief, and his belief to the very same ideology, "Even you. Even the Evil Queen."

And with that the fairy leaves, dejected and forlorn, leaving Regina silent, not really knowing what to say.

**(***)**

He knows Regina.

Or at least, it is safe to say, he knows her a little better by now. Being intimate with each other does that to people, and most especially being in love does, and he can honestly say that he is almost always aware of the changes in her mood, although he doesn't always know the reason behind them. Now isn't any different, and he can see (as he watches her silently for the past few days during lunch or dinner or whenever she decides to grace them all with her presence, she's been asking him less frequently to see her, something that he doesn't push but wonders about)—that she is unsettled, that something is bothering her, and can see how she seems to be upset over something, can almost taste the ill-concealed rage brewing inside her that she hides with sass and snaps.

Any other person would pay no heed to her often erratic moods, would gladly chalk it up to the Queen being her usual sarcastic, caustic self, but not him (and apparently, also not Princess Snow White who he had already seen following the Queen with her eyes, looking silently disapproving, if not curious, that had Regina snapping at the other woman, and had them standing huddled over one corner of the large hall, looking like they were arguing, and at one point had Regina walking out on the Princess who only looked on sadly, shaking her head). That had been days since she'd been that way, and she had reduced to somewhat an automaton—going through the motions and walking through every meal and then sequestering herself in the enormous library. She'd come and summon him at night sometimes, and at times he won't hear from her till the next day. But she  _had_  been watching him at odd times, that much he knows, had been staring at him, and more specifically at a point in his wrist where his tattoo rests. It makes him wonder, especially when she looks away from it at some point as if she'd been burned.

He reckons that he has the right to worry at this point.

After all, he does love her and it matters very little whether she allows him or not to do so, for he does, he will anyway. He wants to know, wants to be able to help her.

But he  _does_ know her, and he knows that she won't tell him anyway, would only frown at him and tell him it's nothing, not something he should worry about, it's her business, and then she'll drop it and change the subject all together. He doesn't push, never pushes her. That's who she is, and he understands that, accepts that as a part of her, and he loves her—all of her, every single part—even this particular trait, even if he doesn't particularly like this.

So when on the one night that she'd allowed him to come visit, take her mind off a few things (her problem, and her sister as well), and he has his arms wrapped around her, his lips pressed against the soft skin of her temple, her body naked and warm against his, he is more than just a little surprised that she'd answered rather than run away when he's asked her what's wrong.

"I've had a talk with Tinkerbelle," she says with a sigh and for a moment his eyebrows furrow as he tries to remember which of the twelve dozen fairies is Tinkerbelle, "The green moth of a fairy,"  _oh, and yeah, okay, that one_ , "And I had a row. Our conversation hasn't left me since."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks cautiously, and though he really wants to know he does respect her a lot, enough not to push when she says no. "If that would make you feel better?"

She pauses for a moment, then shakes her head no, burying her nose further into his chest and inhaling deeply, fortifying herself. She, then, grasps his hand in hers, traces her finger over his wrist where his lion tattoo lays, she outlines the inked art on his skin, and he wonders, wonders why, wonders why she seems to be so hang up on it, ever since that day on the stables long ago, long before they were this: kisses and gentle caresses, back when it had been snide remarks and cold shoulders.

"Regina?" he asks slowly, drawing her name out like a song, a gentle whisper for he is afraid, afraid that he might break this peaceful moment, break the serene feeling between them that has her relaxed and boneless in his arms. But her soft, sighing ' _mmmhmm?_ ' urges him to continue, has him pushing forward and asking, "What does this tattoo mean to you?" as he thrusts his wrist forward for her to see clearer.

**(***)**

Her heart stutters, feels like it actually stops beating for a whole minute at his question and it has her swallowing, has her inhaling sharply and closing her eyes, has her breathing out shakily.

He knows, or at least he has an inkling about the tattoo meaning more to her than just ink on skin. And it is her own foolish actions, she supposes, that led to this, that has him catching up on it, because subtlety is not her strongest suit when it comes to the matters of the heart. She should have known that obsessively staring at his tattoo does not bode well with trying  _not_ to let him in on her secret.

Still, she can lie, she can tell him it's nothing, his tattoo just fascinates her (and that won't even be a lie, because it does, it does fascinate her a lot, and that's a half truth, she supposes), or she can tell him the whole truth, tell him that the tattoo is a mark that he is hers as much as she is his, and that it's a sign of something, of some greater force binding them, their souls together, something that does not exactly mandates, instead intensifies what she so deeply feels for him.

Neither sounds like a brilliant idea, if she's honest, for she cannot lie to him, finds that he simply knows when she is lying, because he knows her. But she also knows that she cannot tell him about it, she just cannot, she isn't ready for him to know.

So she settles for placating, somewhat a parcel of the truth, somewhat a lie, trusting that he won't badger her about it (she knows far too well that he won't, it's just the person he is).

She breathes in deeply once more, then, bracing herself and swallowing thickly, trying to force down the lump currently lodged in her throat.

"It's," she pauses then, searching for the right words, or anything she could say really, anything but blurting out that they are soul mates, really, "It's important to me." And okay, that's okay, that's good.

His eyebrow raises, but he doesn't voice out his question, waiting her out, obviously, if she has anything else to add. She finds that she does, not that it's of any help, but at least it helps settle things.

"It's important to me and to who I became…it signifies the choices I've made…and…" she pauses, feels like she's said too much but not nearly enough, but these are the things she can't tell him yet. "I will tell you," she promises however, "Someday, when the time is right, we can revisit this conversation, but for right now…right now I'm just not ready."

And that is all that it takes before Robin is pulling her into his arms, murmuring a soft,  _yes, if that's what you want, darling_ , against her skin, and that's it, they drop the topic, and she sighs gratefully.

For now, it's not something that she should be worried about.

**(**)**

It isn't until later that she, or any of them for that matter, has much to worry about, really.

It is never a pleasure to see her sister visiting, and as if visiting when Snow White was only a few weeks along had not been enough of a threat, of course, her green bitch of a sister just had to come back and unleash her hideous flying monkeys on them. It is as if she gets off on the terror induced by her ugly winged creatures (they are very much alike she supposes, but at least never unleashes  _that_  kind of terror on anyone, she chooses a more direct approach—beheading, for instance).

And so when the palace shook with terror, and there were annoying screeches heard all over the place, coming from old and young ones alike, it is trouble. She rushes out of the castle then, finds that there is a swarm of those ugly creatures in the palace ground, found her thief and the rest of his merry men trying to injure the beasts just enough to take them down but not to kill them. She had been stupefied, frozen, on the spot, surprised and not really sure what the best course of action is. One in particular had come to attack her, only her thief had been looking her way and aimed at it, making it fall to the ground at her feet, unconscious. She took action then, and froze all the hideous winged beasts in the air, the stupid fairies following her lead and doing the same, and with a flick of her wrist, she had them fall onto the ground, bound and captured. They are to be put into a dungeon, Charming and her thief are the ones to ensure that, all because Snow White had begged her— _these are still our people, Regina, we can't kill them_. Regina could not do anything but acquiesce.

It is only now as she sits at the foot of her bed, massaging her aching shoulders, that she's realized how the use of that much magic have tired her out. In her first few months back here in the Enchanted Forest, she had exhausted all her energy, using magic and finding ways to destroy her sister. She'd spoken true words when she'd told Robin that she'd found another reason to live, to not put herself under a sleeping curse, and it had been what had kept her awake and alive the first few months. It had been her only way to dull out the pain of not being anywhere near her son, of having to be awake each day with the knowledge that he does not even know who she is or that she exists beyond the vain, vile creature that is the Evil Queen in his fairytales. It had been in those moments that she'd realized how she simply is a villain to him, not  _mom_ , just another ordinary villain.

Now, now, she had so much to live for— _hope_ , though she would never admit it out loud. Robin and Roland, they have put hope back in her heart, and now she has hope that someday she might see her son again, and even Snow and her Charming husband, they've all given her hope. They are her supporters, and they have made her realize that she has lesser chance of getting back to her son if she was under a curse, or worse, dead.

She'd tried to take care of herself better since then.

And Robin, too, in his own quiet way has tried to help take care of her. And she knows he will try it too, now, as he knocks on her door (she is sure that it is him, he's the only one who knocks that way).

She climbs down the bed, the bed that she's noticed becomes too cold and too empty without him, and walks her way to open the door, she is simmering with anticipation, can feel her heart fluttering as she bridges the distance between the two of them. She is surprised when he takes her in his arms the moment she opens the door. His face is scrunched up in a look of pain and worry, and it takes her a moment to wrap her arms around him and pull him inside her bedchambers, shutting the door behind her with her foot.

"Robin," she whispers against his neck when she feels him trembling in her arms. She knows he isn't crying, and he is shaking out of tremor, and of release and relief, and she feels his arms tighten around her waist, his lips pressing butterfly kisses against any part of her that he could reach. "What's wrong?"

He pulls away just enough to look into her eyes. His eyes are a darker shade of blue, stone hard but still tender with worry, and she feels her breath hitch. She hasn't had this in so long, this…someone worrying over her, caring. She's never thought she would, actually.

"What's wrong is that winged beast came to you and almost got to you," he says gruffly, and she knows that he knows it's not really her fault, knows that he isn't blaming her, only the beast and probably Zelena as well, but he is worried, she knows it, can feel it as his heart beats erratically in his chest where she's laid her palm.

God, she feels so strongly for him, loves him so deeply it almost hurts.

"But it did not," she answers with a small smile, relieved, as he probably is that it hadn't. "I'm fine, I'm here. How's Roland?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

**(***)**

He doesn't think it's possible to love her more than he does now, it can't be right, can't be real to love someone this much, to have one's heart filling to the brim, threatening to overspill with love for someone. It cannot be…it's unreal. But love her, love her in this way, he does, for it never fails to make him fall harder into her when she worries about his son this way, even when he can imagine how much it hurts for her to not have her own beside her.

"He's okay," he answers her, calmed now (it had been a moment when he swears his heart stopped the moment he'd seen that winged monkey looming over her, flashbacks of the first time they'd met filling his mind, and he swears he's lost his mind then). "He's alright, a bit shaken but more curious, to be honest."

Regina nods, and he only lets her clutch him by his collar and pull him towards the bed. She settles herself in the middle and pulls him down, making him land down on top of her, his elbows bracing his fall as to not crush her. He leans down and touches his forehead with hers, nuzzling her nose with his and pressing his lips to hers.

"I was so bloody scared, love," he confesses as he pushes his head deep into where her neck and her shoulder meet, nuzzling her flesh and inhaling her scent deeply as though it's the last good thing on earth. "I was bloody scared for you."

He feels her rub his hand up and down his back, soothing, comforting, and he wonders, he wonders how it is to be loved by Regina Mills—if this is affection, a fraction of her love being freely given, then how wonderful would it be if she freely admits to loving him? How would it feel to have her in love with him?

But of course, these are not thoughts that he should dwell on, not when he had been so scared he'd have lost her, so he focuses back on the present—he had been right on time, turning around at the exact moment, and she could have also handled herself well, that he knows, but the what ifs are cruel and nagging in his head and he is a slave to the worry and fear that has taken over his heart.

"I'm here, Robin," she whispers softly as she lifts his head and pulls him down for a kiss. "I'm okay. Stop torturing yourself. It wasn't serious."

"It could have been," he argues and balks when she shakes her head. He opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off with a look and a kiss, mumbling a soft,  _'make love to me, Robin'._

He doesn't have the heart to say now, can't really find it in himself to deny her when he needs this just as much as she does. He needs to be assured and reassured that he's not lost his love, that she is here, and they could have more years together, more moments like this when she's warm and pliant in his arms, boneless because of pleasure.

He hasn't even had the chance to tell her he loves her.

"I—," he begins, the words are itching to be said, they are at the tip of his tongue, waiting to fall down and be let out, be offered to someone…to her.

But she stops him with a shake of her head. "Don't," she pleads, and he can see the tears in her eyes, can see how hard she is trying to choke back the tears. And he understands, understands that she isn't ready to hear it, isn't ready to say it, so he acquiesces, nods, and pulls the words back, letting his actions let her know of it, instead.

**(***)**

She wakes later with his arms wrapped tightly around her. His eyes are closed and his breathing is deep and even, but his forehead is still etched with worry. She knows she should appease him, nothing is really going to happen, or at least nothing did, and she's too used to putting herself in danger to be phased by it.

But she can't.

Not when he worries about her like this—in a way that has him wrapping his arms around her tightly, has him pressing endless kisses against her skin, and has her heart fluttering for love for him.

She raises her hand to cup his cheek, feeling his beard scratch her palm, and she smiles lightly, feeling herself becoming young again—carefree (though there is much to worry about), hopeful (though cautious of this being snatched away from her because that's her, that's her life), and in love (something she's never thought she'd ever feel again).

She pulls back when he stirs, but it's too late, for he is awake, ever sensitive to her, his eyes opening and lips curving into a smile. She leans in to peck his lips.

"Look who's finally woken up," she teases even when it's still not really time to get up, not for another few hours, but the chuckle the rumbles from deep within his chest is reward enough.

"Forgive me my love," he says as he ducks his head down to nuzzle her bare skin. "But I have never been that tired in my life. Someone, who we won't name, gave me a run for my money."

She chuckles, heat pooling in her belly at the sound of his voice and because of the wandering hand that has now taken to travelling down her sides, hips, bottoms.

"Don't start something you can't finish, thief," she tells him when she feels his hand fondling her cheeks, and she moans. She feels his hand come up, reaching towards her breasts, his fingers plucking at her sensitive buds, and damn, she needs him again. "Robin," she says in a low voice, a warning.

"I think," he murmurs as he bites at the column of her neck, sucking and then soothing it with his tongue, "I think her majesty needs to get cleaned."

Oh, and well, she isn't going to say no to that.

**(***)**

She is a bloomin' goddess, that's what she is, he thinks as he watches her lower herself in the tub. She's talking of a  _shower_ , something that sounds like a luxury the way she speaks about it, something from the other world…but he's not listening, not intently anyway, as he watches the water ripple around her in the tub…the look of pure pleasure in her face as the warm water hits her skin.

"You going to stare at me all night, or will you actually join me in here?" she asks, with her eyes closed.

He chuckles and shakes his head, before crossing over to the tub and sliding in behind her, stretching out his legs beside hers. She leans back against him and he drops his head to her shoulders, placing gentle kisses along the length of her shoulders up to her neck.

"You're too beautiful for this world, you know that?" he asks as his hand creeps over to her thighs, his fingers sliding across her skin. He lifts his other hand to cup her breasts, his thumb flickering over the puckered buds. "A goddess," he adds.

She moans in response, shifts her hips to urge him to let his hand fall to her center, but no, not yet, he thinks. He opens his mouth to suck on her neck, wanting so badly to leave a red mark for everyone to see, but knows that she will char him to crisp if he does, so he restrains himself from doing so, instead he sucks lightly, soothes it down with his tongue, making her groan in pleasure and tilt her head to the side to give her more access.

"Robin," she gasps out in a heated whisper, arching her back and urging him to do more.

Which he does, as he cups both of her breasts in his hands, fondling her, plucking and pulling and rolling her nipples, alternating between gentle that has her sighing, to harder that has her gasping out, his name tumbling from her lips.

Her right hand starts its descent to her core where he is sure she is throbbing now, but he bats her hand away, earning himself a protest from her, but he only tilts her chin and kisses her deeply, his tongue not asking but taking and he pushes his tongue in, kisses her deeply and passionately, hotly.

He needs her. His penis is hard as granite now, and he needs to be buried deep inside her, but no, not yet, not until she's gasping and moaning and writhing, begging him to bury himself in her.

"Robin, babe, please," she pleads, uncaring now, and the endearment that carelessly falls from her lips makes him smile, grin like an idiot. But still she's pleaded, and that's enough, so he lets his fingers find her, flicking at her bundle of nerves, making her groan and moan, making her stifle a yelp when one finger pushes inside her, then another, moving in and out, in and out, curling just enough to find that spot that drives her wild, and even when her hips are bucking against his hand and she's wailing in her arms, a blubbering mess, begging him not to stop, she's close, very close, god, yes, his fingers,  _mmhmm_ , he doesn't relent, pushes in and out of her, adds another finger that has her spreading her legs wider, hiking it up the walls of the tub. His other hand fondles her breasts, as his thumb seeks out her clit, flicking and fondling, pinching it just as he pinches her nipples too and thrusts his fingers deep inside her that has her bawling, arching her back, crying out his name followed by a string of expletives, and has her muttering unintelligible phrases not fit for a mother and a queen.

He grins, satisfied, even when his cock is throbbing and aching, poking her undoubtedly in her derrière, and he feels pride surge in his chest because he is the one who makes her like this, that has her coming and coming, screaming and muttering invectives that would have caused his and her own mother to go into a shock. Before he can gloat though, she's turning around in his arms, sinking down on him, making him moan and giving him no time to react.

She is the one grinning smugly now, as she rides him slowly at first, building it up and going down on him hard. It has him buckling his hips, thrusting at the same time as her, driving him deeper into her. It doesn't take very long until they are both coming, her scream echoing through the walls of her expansive bathroom, his own strangled sound muffled by the fragrant skin of her shoulder.

It takes a while before the calm down but when they do, he pulls away long enough to grin at her and peck her lips.

"That has got to be the dirtiest bath I've ever had, your majesty," he teases with a chuckle.

And when she responds with a smirk and wink, he knows…he realizes how deeply he's really fallen in love with  _his_  beautiful Queen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Regina Mills is a mercurial human being, he knows that, had known that from the gossips that had milled about the Enchanted Forest some odd five decades ago. He'd heard of tales about the Queen who had been capricious and strong willed when he'd spent his time being a drunk in a bar, and he experiences it now first hand. He admires it, her stubbornness when it isn't directed at him, adores how she seems to be unpredictable, and is often amused by her sudden bursts of mood swings. He finds it entertaining how she'd rage, though he does admit that it is probably vastly different from how it had been fifty years ago whereas the great and terrible evil queen would probably go on a rampage, reformed Queen Regina's sudden shift in moods nowadays only has her throwing snarky remarks left and right and glaring at the offender as though they should have been dead yesterday.

He finds the gorgeous brunette a conundrum, and he likes that about her, likes that she has layers that he can peel back, that even when she seems to have her heart on her sleeves and you can read her eyes like the windows to her soul, she still has secrets that she keeps (it's a part of her that he appreciates, cherishes, because he knows how hard it is for her to relinquish the tight control that she has over herself but she lets her guards down somewhat when around him, and he likes that, basks in the privilege).

He loves her even more for her personality, for whatever makes Regina Mills so authentically herself, but when she is pushing him away, giving him the cold shoulder one moment and then pulling him close and fondling his cock via her magic under the table during one of their very important meetings (making him jump and her snort in pure amusement), it does send him into a mass of disorganized thoughts and heightened libido.

He desires her, and she knows that. He is putty in her hands (yes, pun intended), and she uses that to her advantage. Like right at that moment as he sits in the long dining table, eating supper and trying to hold a decent conversation with his Merry Men, and she is sitting a few chairs over toying with him, playing with his cock with her invisible hold (she has magic and that is just not fair to him, when she suddenly just wants to begin the foreplay by petting his member and he can't even do so much as touch her, goddamnit). She looks so bloody innocent while she does it that she might as well be canonized a saint.

It'd shocked him at first when he first felt it and he'd jumped, looking down at his crotch area, half fearing what he might see (he'd been sitting with Little John on his right, Friar Tuck on his left and Alan A Dale across him, and how awkward would that be?), only to find nothing. When he'd looked up at her, she'd been talking to Princess Snow, but her side smirk and that mischievous glint in her eyes had told him everything he'd needed to know. He'd sent her a glare, one that he knows she'd seen through her peripherals, but one she did  _not_  heed at all as she'd just gone right back and teased him.

She'd upped her game when Roland had come running to her side, climbing to her lap and regaling her and the princess of his adventures. He'd kept a close watch to them, pretending to be engrossed to whatever the hell Friar Tuck is yapping about, but deep inside he'd been burning with lust as she continues to tease him. His friends had asked him multiple times if he was okay, and he'd said that he was, just a twitch, and he thinks that yeah he's got a twitch alright, just on his cock, thank you very much.

He excuses himself then (trying valiantly to disguise his aching erection from prying eyes and one smug Queen), saying that Roland needs to go to bed, and it's the truth—it is past Roland's bedtime. So he hauls the mildly protesting toddler up to his chambers, but not before his son had made sure to stall as much as he could, fawning over the princess and asking the queen for a longer cuddle because he was going to miss majesty, and what if he needs more cuddles that night and Regina is asleep? Shouldn't he get his extra cuddles now to save for later?

The Queen had laughed and indulged his precocious child (and it endears her more to him, even when he is infuriated at her for the stunt she's pulled). She'd hugged Roland one more time, cradling the child and cuddling him close, inhaling Roland's sweet forest-y smell, kissing his dimples once, twice, before rubbing their noses together and bidding him goodnight, promising that if Roland ever needs more cuddles, Mr. Monkey would be there to give him some. The child beams, kissing Regina's cheek once more before he runs off to Robin. Robin picks Roland up and carries his giggling son out of the dining hall.

"I love Majesty," Roland confesses as he leans on his father's shoulder, yawning, his eyes closing. He smiles softly, his dimple making itself known. "She always smells so nice and gives the best cuddles."

Robin chuckles, thinks his son is right, Regina  _does_ smell incredible all the time, and she does give the best cuddles, amongst many other things.

"That she does, son," Robin agrees, his hand coming up to smooth back his son's unruly hair.

Roland buries his nose onto the crook of his father's neck, his arms tightening around Robin. "And she's very pretty too," Roland adds.

Robin's hand comes down to rub his son's back and he smiles, kissing Roland's forehead. "She is, my boy. Majesty is beautiful," he agrees.

Satisfied that his father seems to agree with him, Roland nods and buries himself further in his father's embrace. It's been a long day for the both of them, and it's a good thing too, because Roland lets himself be bathed and changed, tucked in under the warm covers without putting up a fight like he normally does.

"Tell me a story, Papa," Roland begs, his round eyes going wide and his bottom lip poking out in a pout. It's not like Robin can say no to his son, to begin with, but Roland's big brown eyes and pouty face is not something he can refuse.

Robin nods and smiles at his son, lifting his hand to Roland's head to card through his mass of brown curls. "What story do you like?" he asks.

Roland thinks for a moment, his face scrunching up in the most adorable way as he thinks. "The Queen and the thief, papa!" he exclaims, grinning, his dimples showing.

"Alright," Robin agrees. He likes this story too, likes to reminisce about the first time he'd shed a layer of the Evil Queen and had seen Regina—something that had surprised him, given the abhorrent way she used to treat him and his men. She'd been vulnerable then, trusting that he won't kill her as they traipse down the tunnels of her castle, and he'd trusted her that she won't kill him too. They'd talked about second chances and love lost, and she'd not told him yet, he hadn't known then of her sufferings, but he'd seen it in her eyes, had seen the sadness that took away the light in her beautiful brown orbs, had seen through them the unfair hand that life had dealt her with. He'd understood her, had felt the same before Roland, and had been able to establish a different kind of rapport with her then—a rapport that she'd tried to cut off, her walls crawling back up when she'd finally taken down the protection spell and found another reason to go on. But he'd broken down her walls, had made sure that she knows that there is always someone there for him. He thanks whatever forces there are that had worked together to bring together the thief and the Queen, that he might find himself in this position now.

Robin opens his mouth to begin the story, his son looking at him eagerly, but the sound of someone knocking on the door interrupts him. Father and son look at each other questioningly, before Robin stands up and opens the door to find the Queen herself standing on the other side.

"Regina?" he asks, his eyebrow rising as he takes her in.

She's changed her outfit now, clad in a pair of grey silk pajamas, hair up in a less elaborate ponytail, a long flowing robe tied loosely about her waist. Her face is devoid of any makeup, and she looks about ready to turn in.

"The Un-Charmings are requesting your presence over at the meeting room" she informs him with a huff, "It appears that your Merry Man, Little John, could not restrain himself at the buffet and is now having stomach aches. They want you to come along and patrol with the rest of your men."

Robin's eyebrow shoots higher, and he huffs, annoyed at this recent development. His erection has abated some since he'd left the dining hall, but he still got a case of blue balls that he needs attending, and he had planned on getting it attended by the Queen herself, and this…well, this is just puts a damper on things now does it?

"Do they now?" he asks just a bit acidly. At Regina's nod, he looks back to his son, now sitting up on bed and craning to see who is at the door. "Who's going to take care of my son for me?" And it's not really a question, there will still be Merry Men he can leave Roland with, and surely the Prince and the Princess would offer to take care of Roland if so needed, but he doesn't really trust a lot of people when it comes to his son.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Regina asks with a raise of her own eyebrow as if this is basic and Robin ought to have known the answer all along.

"Ah," Robin says, nodding, smiling because he is pleased that she's gone through all this trouble for his son, knowing he won't easily trust anyone with Roland, knowing that she, herself, doesn't trust a lot of people when it comes to the boy. He knows how much the Queen adores his boy, knows that she loves Roland even when it hurts to do so, because Roland reminds her of her own, so far away from her now. "I thought you just wanted to see my handsome face before you went to bed, Your Majesty," he teases, biting his lip as he grins at her.

She rolls her eyes and pushes him lightly as she walks to the room. He follows her with his eyes, closing the door behind him, watching as she makes her way to the bed. Roland's eyes widen when he spots the Queen, and he smiles, throwing his arms up so the Queen would come and pick him up, which Regina does, smiling as well.

"I missed you, Majesty," Roland says, and it's almost surprising how easily Roland has attached himself to Regina. Roland adores Princess Snow and likes to spend time with her, but it's clear to anyone and everyone who sees that Roland positively just worships the Queen. He follows her around like a duckling does to its mother, and he glows when Regina showers him with affection, giggling madly when Regina nuzzles his neck and cuddles him close. It warms Robin's heart in a way that he can't describe, and he is forever grateful for the Queen for the clear adoration he has for the boy that has her doting on him, sparing time to give him attention and shower him with a motherly kind of love that he's been so long deprived of.

"I missed you too my littlest knight," he hears the Queen tells his excited son. She holds him close and says, "But I'm here now."

Roland lets a loud whoop of joy, and Robin watches as the smile blooms on her face.

**(***)**

Regina absolutely adores the dimpled little hobbit that's managed to worm his way through her heart and lighten her days with just his smile. She misses her son, misses him even terribly when she is in Roland's company, but the boy's presence is a balm to that very wound left by her son being justly (but is it really?) ripped away from her.

"It's time for bed now," Regina tells the little boy who pouts at her and protests. She finds that look very irresistible, but Roland does need his sleep, it's late. "It's late, my darling, you need to sleep in order to grow."

She feels her handsome thief's eyes on her back, but she ignores him pointedly (doesn't he have a mission to get to? Damn Snow and her insipid husband for that, by the way).

"Will I grow as big as Papa?" Roland asks her as she walks to his bed and places him down, sliding in next to him and letting him cuddle her further.

"You will, soon enough," Robin interjects as he makes her way to them. "You're already growing too fast." Ah, every parent's lament.

Roland smiles at him sleepily, and then he frowns, asking why Regina is tucking him in when Papa was just about to do that a few moments ago.

"I need to go patrol in the woods," Robin tells his son, earning a pout from the boy. "I'll be back before the sun awakens, I promise." When Roland continues to pout, "And Majesty is here to keep you company while I'm away. When you wake up, I'll already be here."

This seems to appease the boy somewhat and he nods, burying his face further into Regina's chest. Regina smiles softly and pulls him closer, kissing his head and inhaling the sweet baby scent mingling with the forest smell that seems to be a Locksley man trademark.

"Goodnight son," Robin says urging his son to part from Regina for a second so he could kiss his forehead. Roland obliges and kisses his cheek, giving him one last hug before he drifts back into Regina's embrace. "I'll go check on the Prince and the Princess now. In the meeting room, right?"

Regina nods and lets Roland go for a minute to walk with Robin out of the room. She closes the door behind her and after making sure that the close is clear, Robin cups Regina's cheeks, pushing her slightly against the wall, and leans down to crash their lips together. It surprises her, but it's a pleasant surprise, so she leans in a bit more to him and lets her hand slip underneath his shirt, her fingers tracing the hard, defined planes of his stomach. He kisses her hard and long, lets go only when they are both panting, before kissing her once more and stealing her breath away.

"I'll see you later, love okay?" he says as he rests his forehead against hers. He is panting and his breath is warm and ragged as it tickles her face.

She tilts her head just enough to nuzzle their nose together before pecking his lips once more. "Be careful," she almost pleads. "Be careful, Robin, please."

She doesn't know what she'll do if something happens to him, and how will she even explain it to Roland?

"I'm always careful as a rule, my love," he says, grinning at her teasingly (and it doesn't escape her notice what he's called her, but now is not the time). "Of course I blotched my perfect record with you." He chuckles.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Regina asks hitting his chest lightly and pushing him away but letting him pull her close when he does.

"It means that you, Regina Mills, are worth all of it," he says sincerely, and no, he cannot this to her, not when he is about to take a dive into danger. She tries not to let emotions override common sense: love is weakness, this is  _not_  a relationship, and infinitesimally, it works as she manages to reign in her feelings. She might as well be puking hearts and rainbows and riding unicorns here.

"Robin," she whispers breathlessly before kissing him again. "Think of Roland okay?" she asks and she knows that he knows what she means as she continues with, "Don't you dare let yourself be turned into a flying monkey."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he taunts, smirking at her.

She rolls her eyes and kisses him again before sending him away, the rest are probably waiting for him, she says. She watches him leave, ogling his behind and making a silent promise to raise hell on Snow White for this little stunt (Little John is at fault too, and she'll make him pay for it as well). Robin could already be on his way to giving her an orgasm if they hadn't had to pull him to help patrol the woods. Not to mention, she'd be sure that he's safe.

She walks back inside where her little dimpled thief awaits. She closes the door with a light thud, and then makes his way to Roland's bed, sliding once more under the covers.

"Regina," Roland says as he snuggles into her embrace. Regina looks down and finds deep brown eyes looking back at her. "Tell me again the story of the Prince and the Queen."

She'd told him of the story once, when he'd asked her about Henry, telling her that his papa had told him that Majesty had a son too but he's not there with her and it makes her sad. He'd hugged her then and told her that maybe one day she could have his son back and she'd be happy, and she'd hugged him back tightly, letting the taste of hope linger, holding on to the unique sense of blind faith that children seem to possess (the same faith that had her son had possessed in abundance), even knowing that it isn't at all possible for her to be reunited with her son again.

 _"_ _I'd tell you of his favorite story instead, would you like that?"_  Regina had asked the little boy then, and she'd relayed the story of the Queen and the Prince, knowing he's too young to realize, to know that it's her and her son she'd been talking about all along. She hadn't known, hadn't thought that he'd remember.

"Alright," she tells him, kissing his forehead as he settles more into her embrace. "Once upon a time, there was a lonely Queen who lived in a castle far too big on her own. She was alone, without anyone to make her smile and make her happy. She was sad, but she never let anyone see that. But then one day, as she was roaming the castle grounds she found a little baby by the gardens. She looks at the boy, confused, thinking how the baby got there. But the baby boy is crying and she feels her heart break because of his tears, so she lifts the baby boy in her arms and looks into the baby's eyes. She immediately falls in love, but she thinks of the boy's parents, she tries looking for his parents, or anyone who is supposed to take care of him, and she looks around but finds no one. The boy cries louder in her arms, cold and hungry, and she cuddles him close, walking back into the castle and promising to feed him and keep him safe and warm. Days pass and still, there was no sign of anyone coming to get the boy. She's asked everyone to look for the boy's parents, but they all find nothing."

"So what happens to the boy?" Roland asks.

"The Queen decided to keep the boy," she says. "She's fallen so deeply in love with the baby that she vowed to keep his from harm and provide for him everything that his heart desires, because with the boy, she found what  _her_  heart truly desires and longs for: someone to love and someone to love her in return. She'd found her second chance and she'd vowed to love him forever, and love him forever she does."

"Do they get a happy ending?" Roland asks as he yawns.

She doesn't want to shatter his dreams of happy endings and fairy tales, he is young with his life ahead of him, there is no need to crush that hope in his chest.

"I don't know," she tells him instead, smiling as Roland looks at her inquisitively. It's the same look she'd given her before. "It's not really happy if it's ending right?"

Roland looks thoughtful for a second before he nods, smiling. "Yeah," he agrees though Regina doubts that he understands fully the gravity of that statement. There is a pause, a beat, a moment of silence between them before Roland breaks it with a statement that breaks her heart. "So maybe one day, you'll have Henry back again and you can have a happy  _life_ , not just a happy ending."

This boy is wise beyond his years, just like Henry.

Regina's breath catches in her throat, her tears gathering beneath her lashes. "I just want him to be happy, even if it's not here with me," she tells the boy. She should feel odd, revealing her deepest secrets to a four year old child, should feel wary (because the last time she did this, she'd ended up raising holy hell in this realm), but she doesn't. "I think he'll be happier with his other mom anyway," she adds, thinking back on all the times that Henry had been too far from her reach.

Roland frowns, looks at her as if she's just said something incredibly stupid, and then shakes his head. "He's lucky you're his mom, Regina," he says, burrowing his nose further into her silk-clad chest. "You're the best at doing the mommy-things."

Regina's tears slip from her eyes now, and she sniffs, her heart feeling heavy with emotion, feeling like it is expanding until it almost feels too big for her chest. Roland is so innocent, so sweet, so loving and so trusting. She feels her adoration for the boy grow, feels her love for him turn into something so big and encompassing. "Thank you Roland," she murmurs against his hair as she pulls him closer to hide the tears she is shedding.

"I love you, Regina," he murmurs, his voice heavy and sleep-laden as he finally falls into the world of dreams.

"I love you too, my little knight," she whispers, letting her voice carry out in the empty silence before she drifts off to sleep.

**(***)**

It's a relief when they finally get back to the castle.

The coast is clear, so far, there are no winged beasts waiting to attack, and no green-skinned witch wanting to strike. He knows that the witch is really just bidding her time, trying to find their underbelly, and strike when they are unsuspecting, everyone knows that, and so he keeps vigilant, they all do.

But for now, he needs sleep, needs his rest, needs to just kick off his garments, and quite possibly wrap his arms around Regina and hold her while they sleep (he's lucky enough that it's still dark and he'll have a few hours of sleep before she'll kick him out of her bedchambers and he'll have to traipse his way to the other side of the castle only to promptly conk out again and be awoken a few hours later by the hurricane that is his son).

He trudges up to his son's bedchambers first, just to be sure that he hasn't gone missing or anything, sleepwalking or something of the like. He expects to find his son sleeping peacefully, covers kicked away and pillows on the floor, but the sight that greets him instead when he opens the door is something surprising and incredibly pleasing.

Roland is fast asleep in his large bed cuddled up with Regina who is sleeping just peacefully beside him, holding him to her. They look so peaceful, so beautiful together that his heart aches something pleasant.

He walks over to the bed and stares at them some more, his hand coming down to smooth back Roland's hair from his forehead, before he leans down to kiss Roland's forehead and then Regina's. He then straightens and turns his back, prepared to go the room next door to sleep as well, when he feels a hand grab his. He turns around to find Regina looking at his sleepily.

"Thief," she greets, her voice soft and her eyes drooping, encumbered with sleepiness and exhaustion. "You're back."

"I am," he says as he sits on the side of the bed, one hand still on her clutch and the other coming up to catch her cheek. "I'm safe, still the handsome thief that I am. Go back to sleep."

"Mmmhmmm," she slurs, still drunk off sleep, "You  _are_ handsome, and you have a great ass."

He chuckles quietly, enjoying this sleepy Regina (another leaf he'd turned concerning her). He then bends down and kisses the tip of her nose and then her lips, going in for another, and then another before he pulls back and sits straighter.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty," he whispers against her temple (and the title falls from his lips with sincerity, she  _is_  majestic, stunning in every way), watching as she smiles before turning once more and snuggling closer to his son, and then falling back asleep.

**(*)**

He awakes some time later with the feeling of his scalp being massaged, soft, nimble fingers carding through his hair, and his first thought is how wonderful this is, how this feels like paradise. He opens his eyes, his lids fluttering and his vision a bit blurred, waking to the sight of the queen sitting on his bed, watching him as she runs her fingers through his locks.

Is he dead? Is this heaven? It sure feels like it is.

"I thought you weren't going to wake," she says sultrily, the dulcet tones of her voice doing  _things_  to his already rising member.

"I think I might still be dreaming," he admits as he sits up, feeling just a tad bit disappointed when her hand falls away from his hair. His disappointment dissipates quickly when he looks at her, his eyes roaming her form thoroughly and penetratingly, and she looks like a goddess, every bit the Queen that she is, and God, she is so beautiful. He groans. "I still  _am_ dreaming."

She chuckles as she stands and sheds her robe (not that the robe had done a good job of hiding what's underneath it, as sheer as it is but the sight of the material falling away from her skin had been so erotic). She treats him with a view of her body scantily covered by a think silky material no one would dare call a night gown—because it really does  _nothing_  to cover her assets. He feels himself salivate at the sight of her.

"This  _does_  feel like the beginning of so many porno movies," she laughs, and he's confused, she'd explained to him what a movie is, he knows what that is, but he's still befuddled, and it must show in his face because she says, "Something from the other world, if you're lucky, maybe we'll make one someday."

He shakes her head, willing to just let it be, and focuses instead on her glorious body before him, and god, he  _cannot_  wait to peel that off of her body, to lick and kiss every patch of skin revealed to him, to make her feel so good. But wait, was she not asleep just moments before?

"I felt you come in probably an hour ago," she says, as if reading his mind, "But I think I fell asleep again. I woke up and came here to check on you."

And to make him the luckiest man alive, he thinks, but he doesn't say that.

"We're all clear, no monkeys in sight and no looming danger for now," he tells her what they found out before taking her hand and urging her to climb up the bed again. She does just that and settles beside him, letting him put his arms around her. "How was your kip?"

She shrugs. "It was great," she admits, smiling. "You've raised an amazing little boy."

His heart flutters at her compliment and he feels like he's floating, feels so happy and light, feels like his grin might permanently split his face as it stretches across his sleep.

"Thank you," he tells her sincerely. "I haven't seen you with your own, but the way you treat my son…you are one hell of a mother."

A sad look passes across her face and she looks down. "I wasn't always," she tells him. "Sometimes I don't love enough that I don't care who I hurt, and sometimes love too hard that I don't know when it's suffocating the ones I care about. I don't know how to love very well."

He shifts, just so they are face to face as he cups her face in his hand and looks her dead in the eyes. "From where I'm standing, I think you love better than most."

The watery smile that she gives him as emotions overwhelm her is enough to break his heart. But she shakes her head and squares her shoulder, leaning up to kiss him (it is full of gratitude, filled with words that she doesn't say). And then she's waving her hand, a purple cloud of smoke enveloping it before a bottle filled with amber liquid and two glasses filled with it appear before them. She takes both glasses and hands one over to him, looking at him coyly as she pulls back just a bit.

"It's been a long day, Robin of Locksley," she says with a sly grin, "how about a drink."

He looks at her faux skeptically, taking the drink with mock precaution. "How do I know this isn't some magical liquid meant to lure me to my end," he teases. "How do I know this isn't some potion meant to lure me to insanity?"

As if he isn't already mad…madly in love with her, that is.

She laughs, saying, "It isn't exactly magical. But it can conjure courage, give strength and act as a love potion of some sort." She takes a sip and watches him, snorting when he raises an eyebrow. "No, it's not magical. It's called whisky."

He chuckles, "It's alcoholic then," he asks needlessly.

"Mmhmm," she hums as she takes another sip, urging him to do the same.

The liquid leaves a fiery path down his throat, and he feels the burn, but it's a delicious kind of burn that has him smiling, taking another sip. She smiles at him and looks at him seductively through the rim of her glass.

He is on fire for her tonight, her nightgown sending thrills up and down his spine, the sight of her poorly-covered breasts making his blood heat up and go down south, and when she takes another long sip, he dives into her and kisses her, plunging his tongue and drinking from her mouth, letting the brown liquid swirl in his. She tastes good, the alcoholic beverage tastes good, and together, they make a heady taste that leaves him wanting more. She looks at him in surprise, and it melts away into a pleased look as he continues kissing her, pulling away only so he could trail kisses down the column of her delectable throat. He licks and kisses and sucks and bites her skin, making her heave, pant, her breaths coming in shallow gasps and she spreads her legs wide, letting him settle between them as he covers the length of her body with his, the fire of passion radiating between them, threatening to burn him alive.

"God," she mutters as he uncovers her breasts to his eyes and then dives in to take a nipple into his mouth and suckle, suckle hard, just the way she wants, the way that makes her gasp, a  _mmhm!_  Escaping her parted lips, and that has her rocking her hips against his. Her fingers find the planes of his chest and her nails scratch his skin, leaving her own mark as he laves and laps against the skin of her scrumptious tits.

He pulls her nightgown up and over her head, throwing it to the foot of the bed where it slithers down the floor before he kisses her stomach, making it quiver. "You're beautiful," he murmurs against her skin.

**(***)**

She feels light-headed, feels like she's floating and soaring, feels like she's overheating. She feels heat pooling low in her belly, a rush of wetness flooding down where she aches. She feels his tongue flick against the pebbled peaks of her breast as one of his hand plays with its neglected twin. His other hand comes down to cup her ass, lifting her infinitesimally, just enough to align their crotches with each other. He grounds his shaft against her core and she whimpers, makes a disgustingly embarrassing sound that her mother would surely behead her for, should she ever hear it, but it only spurs Robin on, and soon he is leaving one breast for the other, sucking the pink tips in his mouth with gusto. Her head thrashes against the pillow, her hips rolling and rocking against his so she could feel him more, feel his glorious cock pressing into hers.

She needs him.

But then he's pulling away and she makes a disgruntled noise, lifting her head and looking at him.

"I kind of want more of that whisky," he says as he takes the glass he'd taken from her hands before. She glares at him and waits impatiently for him to take a damned swig and get on with pleasuring her.

He surprises her however when he drizzles the liquid on her body, pouring generous amounts on her chest, and she's about to admonish him that he's making a mess, but he's suddenly ducking down, licking and sucking against her wet skin, slurping, drinking the whisky directly from her body. He leaves a tingling feeling and a trail of red welts in his wake, and she doesn't know what to think, doesn't know what to feel as he continues to lap at her skin until there are no more traces of the alcohol left on her body.

He then nuzzles the soft skin under her navel with his nose, letting his tongue poke out just enough to taste, before he traces a line down to where her thighs and her hips meet, licking, nipping sucking.

"Robin," she gasps out, lifting her hips to urge him to go where she needs his tongue to be.

He doesn't disappoint. He flicks his tongue to her tingling bundle of nerves, making her moan out loud and doesn't let up until she's a sobbing mass of want and lust. She feels hot where he is kissing her, lapping at her, feels hot all over. He teases her entrance with his tongue before he plunges in, thrusting inside of her in rapid speed, before he uses his finger.

In, out, in, out, until she feels her breath hitch, her hips buckle, and the flood of wetness come rushing down and out of her in copious amount. It doesn't take long before she's coming, he plays her like a guitar master does a fine-tuned guitar, knows what she likes and what gives her pleasure and makes her explode, which she does. She moans when feels his tongue hot and insistent against her sex still, lapping her up.

"Tasty," he says, grinning at her.

She looks at him, sees that winning smug grin on his lips, and she feels challenged, feels like she needs to one up him at one point, and so she pulls on his sleeping pants (he'd forgone the shirt and so he's naked from the waist up) and pushes him back until his back is against the headboard. She positions herself between his legs and then eases his pants down his hips and throws it haphazardly behind her, not caring where it lands, and instead focuses on the sight of his member standing straight and proud.

"Is that for me?" she asks teasingly as her comes down to stroke him, once, twice, and one more time making him shudder.

"Always," he mutters through the obvious haze of pleasure.

She bites her lip before letting her tongue poke out and she licks the head, tasting him, giving him sucking kisses and letting her tongue run up and down his length. He is beautiful, a beautiful specimen of a man, and she thanks her lucky stars that she gets this, that she's overcome part of her inhibitions to allow herself this kind of pleasure, this bit of happiness, because he does make her happy, in his own way, because he is who and what he is.

She looks up at him, smiling at him, before she take all of him in her mouth, sucking him, letting him slip in and out of her mouth. She feels his hand carding through her hair and she smiles, looks him straight in the eyes and holding his gaze as she takes him deep in her throat.

"Fuck," he growls deep in his throat, his eyes closing as he throws his head back, obviously so overcome by pleasure.

She pulls away, lets him go with a pop, and then she reaches for the whisky and pours some all over his chest, watching as the amber liquid runs down his stomach, wetting his bronzed skin, making her mouth water. She pours some more, thrilled when it runs right where she needs it to, right at the base of his shaft. Without preamble, she dives in and licks every bit of the alcohol from his skin and she thinks it tastes infinitely better when mixed with the heady taste of him. She doesn't stop until she reaches the base of his cock, letting her tongue encircle it fully, before she runs her tongue up, licking him, sucking his head, then licks down again, repeating the process again and again until he's holding on to her hair a little tighter, muttering an incoherent string of words that she doesn't even care to understand, all she cares about is that she's doing this—making him a mass of pure want and mess of babbling and curse words.

She reaches for the glass of whisky once more and carefully pours down and over his shaft, dousing it just enough, before taking him all in. She sucks him vigorously, lets her head bob up and down and lets her tongue play with him, too, feeling pleased when he makes an animalistic growl. She likes this, likes giving him pleasure, likes doing this for him even when she'd detested it with the others, even when she'd only done it with Graham before (she'd hated it even then).

"Oh god, Reg—lo—oh ugh, babe," he mutters, and the endearment makes her smile, they've been spending way too much time with each other if he's caught that term already, and she likes that, "You need to stop."

She pauses for a moment to say, "Do you want me to stop?"

He shakes his head, the pause giving him a moment to breathe. "No," he tells her. "But I'm going to come in your mouth if you don't."

She smirks at him, sucking him one last time for good measure before letting up and crawling over to his lap and straddling him because she definitely does not want him to come yet.

"You're incredible, did I ever tell you that," he says before he kisses her thoroughly, his tongue pushing in her mouth to taste, to trace every crevice and every cavern.

She kisses him back with the same passion, loving the way his arms enclose around her form, loves the way he holds her so easily and so comfortably, loves the way they fit…in all the ways that matter.

She loves him, she'd admitted that much to herself, loves every part of him, and loves the way he loves her even when she deems herself unworthy…even when she can't love herself.

She kisses him softly, increasing its intensity as she goes along, her hands touching every bit of skin she can reach. And then she's pulling away, telling him she needs him, needs him now, neither of them would last long, she knows that, both having been driven to a fevered pitch. She grins at him, turning her back at him and going down on her hands and knees. She waits a moment as a beat passes, before she looks back at him and finding him staring at her derriere. She chuckles.

"What am I going to have to do? Bark?" she snaps, "Fuck me, Robin."

He laughs, shakes his head, bites his lips and takes her hips in his hand, positioning himself behind her and pushing his member inside of her. They both let out a moan at the feel, and she throws her head back, loving the feeling of him stretching her walls to their limits. She loves the feeling of him inside her.

"Ready, darling?" he asks softly, and then starts thrusting when she nods.

She is right, it doesn't take long before they are both hanging on the edge of precipice, a few more thrusts and they'd both be soaring over to the edge. He grunts behind her as he pistons in and out of her, and her knees hurt and her hands wobble, she feels herself coming.

"Robin, ugh," she manages to ground out, "I uhh, mhmm, I'm coming."

He reaches down to flick his thumb against her clit and the action makes her shatter, sends her spiraling out of control as her orgasm takes hold of her body. She screams his name, and it's a wonder even to her how the bloody hell they haven't woken the residents of the castle yet, but it's the least of her concerns as he continues to thrust behind her, faster, harder, even deeper now, his hand clenching and unclenching around her hips as the other plays with her clit, making her come apart around him once more, this time taking him with her. He comes with a deep growl, her name tumbling from her lips and falling right straight to her heart, making her feel like flying. They collapse on the bed, him still on top and inside of her.

And in her head, she thinks that if she dies today, well, this a bloody fucking great way to go.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Regina Mills is a restless sleeper.

She knows that better than anyone. Mostly, it's because her sleep is plagued by dreams, no, actually, nightmares. When she'd still been the Queen, and Leopold had still been alive, she dreams of Daniel constantly. It always starts out nice, she dreams of him and her riding their horses, galloping through the fields down to firefly hill. He'd help her down and kiss her, and she'd feel so light, feels like her dreams are spun in gossamer silk, so delicate and so beautiful. But then it morphs to that night in the stables where her own mother took her lover's life, and forever changed Regina. She wakes up heaving and crying on those days and she'd rage, hating the life she'd been subjected to, and for the millionth time wishing she could reclaim her life and be free.

She thought that by casting the curse, she'd be free, and along with it, the dreams would go.

But she'd been wrong, for even in Storybrooke, she remained dreaming—of her father, this time. She believes now, and believed then, that it had been the manifestation of the guilt she feels over killing her own father. She doesn't talk about it (not that she has anyone to talk to about it, at that point), and she doesn't like thinking about it, but it had been forefront in her mind always, as she feels so keenly the loss of the only person who had ever believed in her, who loved her and everything that she was, is. She always woke hating herself, tears coursing down her cheeks.

When her son had come along, the dreams had stopped, the nightmares had gone. Mostly, she attributes it to the fact that she didn't have enough time for sleeping, and therefore couldn't have the dreams, but it's also because of her son, because he brought a light into her life she hadn't realized she'd needed.

Her nightmares had been gone up until the point when her son started pulling away from her, and she'd had vivid nightmares of Emma Swan taking her son from her…which eventually turned into reality.

Lately, since they've come back to the enchanted Forest, she's had more nightmares than she could count. She'd conjure a potion for it, but she tends to be more drained when she takes the potion (which Rumple had taught her to make), and at this point, she cannot afford to not have energy. So she bears the nightmares that plague her, lets her heart break over and over as her mind replays that exact moment she'd had to give up the only person who had given her happiness.

It had been a blessing, really, when she started having Robin over, not that she would ever admit that aloud, but he had been able to keep the nightmares at bay. She'd slept soundly in his arms.

So, yes, she is a restless sleeper.

Something that she's proved even further when Robin had been once again deployed to patrol the parameter with his men, extending down south just to make sure that everyone is safe and protected from her wicked sister and her simian army, and it's taken him and his men more than just a night to finish the task.

He's left her in charge of his son, something that perked up the young boy considerably upon knowing his father was going to go away for a while, making Regina a bit calmer (he buttered her up, she knows, because he knows she won't have agreed not to go with them otherwise), but that had also meant sleeping without him—which, from Regina's point of view, is pretty damn near impossible.

Still, she tries to, after settling Roland in the bedchamber next to hers, she plops down her bed with a heavy sigh and tries to fall asleep…tries to fall asleep without dreaming.

She closes her eyes and feels herself transported into another realm.

She is in Storybrooke, she knows it, can tell the difference between the trees from here in the Enchanted Forest and from there. She is sitting on a bench, the pond just a little ways over, and she looks around the place with weariness that her battered heart feels acutely.

Everything seems so real, the picturesque view so real and so alive that she starts to believe that she's in Maine. She watches as her son, Henry, looks at her from where he is standing near the pond, beside a little boy—is that Roland? And yes, yes it is Roland, and then Roland is turning to her, both boys waving. They both look older now, maybe a good two, three years older—Henry definitely looks a  _lot_  taller than she remembers.

But what is Roland doing here?

And then from her peripheral vision, she sees Robin coming towards her with a little girl—probably around three years old—and they are both smiling at her. Her thief is grinning at her adoringly while the little girl is giving her a toothy grin. She looks like Robin with that smile—her dimples so akin like Robin's and it's not that hard to deduce that Robin is the father, also considering the girl's blue eyes.

But the girl's hair is raven, and if her eyes are deceiving her, she looks exactly as Regina had when she was that age—she looks like Regina does now, in fact, barring the blue eyes and dimples. And no, this can't be happening.

Is that their daughter?

How?

"There's your mummy, Harper," Robin coos to the smiling child as they reached her. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Regina throws Robin a look, and she'd say something more if she isn't so paralyzed by what is happening, so confused. This  _is_  their child, it appears. Not anyone else's, hers and Robin's.

"Mumma," the child says, lifting both arms and reaching towards her.

Regina, though confounded by the turn of events, reaches out for the kid—a motherly instinct she cannot curb. She settles the child—her child, Harper, into her lap and holds on to the little girl as the little girl rests her tiny head onto her mother's chest. Her thumb immediately goes to her mouth as Robin settles beside her, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. Through the haze of confusion, Regina feels contentment surge through her body, her soul, as if this is the home she's been trying to find all this time.

She looks down as the child on her lap tugs at the lapel of her coat. Blue meets warm honey, and the child grins at her, dimpled cheek in full display.

"I love you mommy," she says before pulling on Regina until their faces are level where she smacks her puckered lips against Regina's and then settling back down on her chest.

Regina swallows the lump on her throat.

Jesus, this  _is_  coming home.

Then she wakes, gasping, sweat beading against her forehead, the weight on her left hip preventing her from shooting up from the bed. She places her hand flat on her chest and looks at her side to find Roland sleeping contentedly by her side.

How long has she been asleep?

And how did she not wake when Roland had come in?

Sighing, and trying as much as she can to put her dream at the back of her head—to be re-examined at a much later date, she turn and gathers the boy into her arms, cuddling into him and inhaling the scent that he and his father seem to have exclusively, she falls once more into a more restful sleep.

**...**

When she wakes the next morning, she feels the tension climb up her shoulders as her mind remembers the dream she's had the night before. It unnerves her, how much she wants that—how much her heart betrays her mind because she knows better than to hope and want for anything as beautiful as that but hope and want she does. She wants that so much—to have that life with Robin, Roland and Henry, and maybe, hopefully, any future other children they may be granted with.

But she knows better—her bruised and battered heart knows better after everything she's been through—and she knows, Villains don't get happy ending.

However her son and her thief might want to believe that she isn't, and that she is no longer the woman she used to be, the Evil Queen feared by many for her brutality and cruelness, she is that woman, will always be that woman. After everything she's done, there is no way she could ever get a happy ending.

Maybe, it's all the time she's spent with the thief that has her dreaming about things like that, she mulls over as she walks to the dining hall, Roland's clasped tightly in hers, and he babbles on and on about his night, about he'd snuck in the night into her bedchambers because he'd been afraid—he'd been properly reprimanded for that one—and his dreams, which Regina had been half-listening to but pretended that she'd been listening intently, nodding,  _mhmm_ -ing and  _ah-ing_  at the right times (she's had her fair bit of practice, this isn't her first rodeo, after all—she's had Snow and then Henry).

Roland had run off to the Merry Men left in the castle (they'd divided themselves into two groups: Robin's who went to patrol and Friar Tuck's who are there to help out in the castle), the moment they entered the hall. And she'd let him, knowing that he'd be safe with the band of thieves that he and his father call their family. She had instead walked directly to where Snow White and David had been sitting, at the very head of the table and took her place beside them.

Up until now, she still finds it amusing—the ironic way in which fates move: she's sitting here  _beside_  the people she had once wanted nothing but to kill. And she actually has formed a tentative friendship with them, considers them allies at this moment in their need to defeat her wicked bitch of a sister.

Snow takes one look at her and she's frowning.

"You've got bags under your eyes," Snow comments unnecessarily once she lowers herself onto her chair and David leaves them a bit to have a talk with one of the munchkins at the buffet table. "You look like death warmed you over."

Regina scoffs and glares at the little Snowflake. "Thanks," she says, sarcasm dripping all over her tone. "That just warms my heart."

Snow shakes her head. "I didn't mean that as an insult," she explains, making Regina raise an eyebrow to say  _really?_ , and purse her lips in distaste. "I only mean that you haven't been sleeping," Regina rolls her eyes at this, making Snow sigh before continuing: in a whisper so loud she might as well just have used her normal voice. "Is it because of Robin?"

Regina looks at her as if she's grown another head. She must have. "Why would I care about Robin?" she asks, her voice going up an octave, making her wince internally—because way to go in making Snow believe that no, Robin is not the reason.

"Ah, but it's Robin now and not the thief, isn't it?" Snow says smugly, with that little smirk that Regina would have gladly slapped off her face up until almost a year ago.

Regina remains silent but huffs through her nose. She looks away, lest Snow finds the concern she holds for Robin in her eyes. She does not want to play twenty questions for breakfast (unless she's playing it with Robin and  _he_  happens to be the breakfast—but ugh, wrong thoughts, Mills).

"Regina, you can give the jig up," Snow continues, making Regina's head snap back at her so fast that it makes a loud popping sound. "I know. God, I'm surprised the whole castle doesn't know."

Regina swallows. God, if Snow can't-keep-a-freaking-secret White knows, then every. Single. One. Must know by now. But still, denial is the way to go, so she raises and eyebrow and crosses her arm against her chest defensively.

"Know what?" she asks coldly.

Snow actually looks around her before leaning closer to Regina and whispering, mercifully, in a low voice: "You and Robin—you're together."

Regina strangles the gasp that wants to claw its way out of her throat. She looks at Snow passively, or somehow she hopes it looks passive. "We aren't together," she flat out denies. But really, they aren't together, are they? Sure they have sex, plenty of sex, great sex. But they aren't in a relationship—no. "I would never."

Snow looks at her, definitely not amused at her attempts to deny whatever it is that is going on with her and Robin.

Really, it's none of Snow's damn business anyway.

"Right," Snow says dryly. "You're totally not having sex. You think you're so subtle. Please, Regina, I wasn't born yesterday." She scoffs.

Regina rolls her eyes and huffs indignantly. "I don't see how this is any of your business," she says sounding so defensive she could just about swallow her own tongue.

Snow chuckles, looking pleased (and Regina wants to damn well know why). "So you aren't denying it?" Snow asks gleefully.

"It's none of your business," Regina reiterates, adding: "Whatever is going on between me and him is between me and him."

Snow looks like Regina just handed her the winning numbers. "Okay but something is going on between the two of you?" she asks excitedly, and at Regina's silence, she grins so widely, she looks like she's going to pop. "I'm so happy for you!"

Regina holds up her hand. "Woah, before you throw a grand ball in my honor, let me hold you right there," she says. "He and I are not in a relationship."

"Sure you aren't," Snow says, with an unimpressed frown. "That's why you're so worried about him."

Regina frowns as well, not liking where this is taking them. "Who says anything about me being worried?" she asks, determined to put down any notion that Snow White would most definitely put in her head about Robin and her and happy endings. No, she's had enough of that, thank you very much.

"No one has to," Snow says, with a shrug just as Charming gets to the table and takes the seat next to her. "It's written on your face."

"What is written on Regina's face," David asks once he's settled.

"Your being worse than a lady when it comes to gossip," Regina snaps at him before standing up to gather Robin's son and feed him and herself some breakfast.

**...**

Regina further proves her theory decades ago that Snow White isn't so easily dispatched and would definitely outlive a cockroach, as the said little snowflake finds her after she's put down Roland for a nap.

Granted, she isn't really hiding in a very Snow-proof place—she's been at the library, poring over books, looking for spell to defeat the wicked bitch—but still.

"We didn't finish our talk this morning," Snow says as she stands by the door frame, arms crossed and with a smile on her face.

Regina sighs at her. "Must we really?" she asks. "I have rather pressing things to do than talk about boys."

Snow ignores the jab and instead crosses the threshold to take the vacant seat in front of Regina. "Regina, you mustn't close yourself off of love," she says seriously with a little emphatic smile.

Regina rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Like that worked out so well for me," she says gravely. "I had love, and he's dead. Hoping for another won't get me anything but heartbreak." In her mind, her dream from last night echoes and intensifies the pain and makes her want to lash out.

"Regina—," Snow begins but Regina cuts her off.

"No," Regina exclaims with an angry glare and voice—angry everything. "No, Snow, no you don't get to tell me to keep up hope and just believe that there is a second chance for me at love. I can't. I can't love again, can't love ever. Everything I love, it gets destroyed, everyone I ever loved they get taken away from me. I'm not you. Help does not magically appear whenever I need it, instead I get handed with heartbreak and death in my hands." She stands from her chair even as her knees tremble. "I can't just love again and expect a happy ending. I'm a villain, and villains don't get happy endings."

Snow sighs and shakes her head. "I know I took your chance at a happy ending once," she says in a quiet voice and it makes Regina feel guilty, they are supposed to be past this. It makes Regina's knees buckle and she sits back down as Snow continues, "But I'd like to believe in second chances, in a chance at grace."

Second chances—Robin's told her before that everyone deserves a second chance—does that even extend to Evil Queens?

Snow takes her hand in hers and squeezes. "What is this all about?" she asks. "Are you very worried about Robin? Perhaps next time, we could just ask him to stay here rather than patrol?"

Regina shakes her head, that won't do. Robin loves helping, being useful, he won't take to being told not to go—even if it pains her.

"That's not necessary," she says with a heavy sigh. "I trust in his ability to come back to me in one piece, even when I worry sometimes. It's not that."

"Then tell me what it is," Snow urges, her voice soft and cajoling.

And really, if she cannot tell Snow White, who can she tell?

She sighs. "I had a dream last night," Regina says, closing her eyes as the memory of her dream flashes once more before her eyes. At Snow's nod, she continues: "Robin and I, we're in Storybrooke, with Henry and Roland…" she pauses.

"That's nice…maybe someday?" Snow offers, but Regina shakes her head.

"And a daughter named Harper," Regina adds in a soft, small voice, as if saying it any louder would break it, or make it more real—she doesn't know which one she prefers.

"A daughter?" Snow asks. "Yours and Robin's?"

Regina nods slowly. "But it won't happen, I know it won't," she says, wanting nothing more than to weep but really, she can't afford to do that over a stupid dream.

"Regina…" Snow begins softly, but Regina interrupts.

"No, Snow," Regina says with a shake of her head. "Why do you think you've never had a sibling? Surely you must know that your father and I do not just talk about politics when he calls me to his bedchambers. Storks do not deliver babies."

Snow visibly reddens at Regina's words but shakes her head and carries on. "There are other ways to have babies. You don't love Henry any less just because he's adopted, do you?" Regina shakes her head: of course not. And Snow smiles. "Maybe it's hope…a sign that things would work out for you."

Regina bites her lip, restraining herself physically from shaking her head. "Does the hope commission pay you every time you say that word? Admit it," she says, the bite of her words all but nonexistent as Snow chuckles.

"No," Snow says. "But you always got to have hope…losing hope is like giving in and giving up."

Regina sighs once more. "Well, if that works, I'll give you a quarter."

Snow White only chuckles.

**(*)**

Robin could honestly say that he's never been happier to enter a castle in his whole life. The past two day away from his son and the woman he loves is pure torture, and he couldn't help but be grateful that they have been able to come back now and he could finally see them.

He enters the castle through the kitchen rather than the front entrance. The reason had been because all of them who had gone on patrol are completely starving, having forgone hunting in favor of getting back a lot earlier. Luckily, Granny had some leftover dinner ready (they'd arrived later than they thought they would), and him and the rest of the men who went on patrol have devoured that in a matter of minutes.

Granny had still been puttering around the kitchen, making some confection that looks absolutely divine and mouthwatering. One of his men had teased and asked for a taste, but Granny had shaken her head and said that it was for her majesty, as requested by Princess Snow, and after that there had been no discussion as to whether they should get a taste or not. No one had wanted to crawl up the Queen's bad side, definitely.

"I could take it up to her," Robin offers, once the men had started clearing out and Granny's cake—whatever that is—had been finished. Granny gives him a look that makes him blanch before he stutters: "I'm sure my son is with her, so I'm just going to drop this off and collect him."

Granny smirks at him knowingly. He swallows. Granny knows.

Christ almighty, Regina is going to  _murder_  him—draw him out and quarter him, char him to crisp or rip his heart out—it doesn't matter, she's going to kill him.

"Sure you are," Granny says, sounding smug. Robin feels his heart drop even further. "Here you go, careful not to drop it."

Robin nods and with the confection safely in his hand, dashes out of the kitchen and into his Queen's bedchambers. He knocks gently before grasping the knob and turning, only mildly surprised but majorly turned on to find his Queen ready for bed, wearing nothing but his own dress shirt and a red tinge coloring her cheek.

"Milady," he greets as he steps in her room and closes the door behind him. He'll check on Roland later, his son is most probably asleep by now.

"Thief," she greets, squaring her shoulders as she raises her eyebrow. "Cheesecake?"

"Is that what this is called?" he asks with a shrug. "Granny made it for you, as per Princess Snow's request."

A look flashes across Regina's face and he isn't sure if that's adoration or being touched—it doesn't matter. What matters is that she's here barely a foot away and he's there, staring at her—but why the hell is he not grabbing her and kissing her senseless?

The weight on his right hand reminds him he's brought her this cake—cheesecake, isn't it?

He places the cake on table just at his right, which holds some books he knows she's looking at for some spells, before he walks over to her, snatching her up by the waist and then pressing his lips against hers hungrily. She moans softly as his fingers tighten their hold on her and he slips his tongue in her mouth.

He's missed her. God, he's missed her so much.

He leaves his mouth long enough to trail soft, biting kisses against her neck, his nose burying against her skin to inhale her scent—that scent that drives him wild.

"Robin," she whispers in a strangled gasp as he lets his hand fall from her waist down to her ass, cupping her cheeks and kneading, loving the feel of her being so close to him after a long, long time (two days is not supposed to feel  _this_  long).

"Regina, I missed you," he whispers against her skin, marveling at the sight of the goose bumps rising everywhere.

"I missed you too," she says as she wounds her arms around her and holds on to him for dear life.

He feels her trembling in his arms, but there are no tears and no sobs that come—and that alarms him. He pulls away just a bit, even as she tightens her hold and buries her face deeper into his chase, pushes herself closer into his embrace.

"What's wrong love?" he asks with a silent plea. When she doesn't answer, he lifts her up into his arms, making her hike up her legs around his waist and her arms to wrap around his neck—her nose burying onto the crook of his neck. He sits them both down her bed. "Please tell me. I can't make it better if I don't know."

"You can't make it better." Her voice is muffled against his skin. "Not even cheesecake can make me feel better."

Robin looks at the cake forlornly, wishing there is something he could do for her. He loves her, wants so much to help her, and if he can't make her feel better then what good is he?

"At least tell me what's wrong?" he begs, pushing her away a bit so he could cup her chin and make their eyes meet. "Please?"

She heaves a sigh and then buries her nose back against his neck. She isn't normally like this…isn't normally cuddly (she likes it when they are asleep and he holds her, not that she'll ever admit, but she's never been like this—almost needy, for a lack of better word). She isn't usually so determined to cling to him, she is the opposite in fact—she's always determined to do things by herself.

"I had a dream about you," she says with a slight tremble in her voice. And he assumes the worst, she probably dreamt of him dying or something…the next words that slip out of her mouth surprises him though: "We were in Storybrooke, Maine. You know in the other land. And…" she pauses, takes a deep breath. "And our sons are there…and our daughter."

He feels the smile turn up the corner of his mouth and he could feel happiness surge through his body…she's dreamt of a future…a future with him.

"What could be so bad about that?" he asks, frowning.

She sighs angrily as she slips off of his lap…and he feels cold, empty. She looks at him with a glare.

"What's wrong with that is that I will never get to have that!" she all but yells at him. "I get a taste of that but it's a cruel joke. I'll never have that Robin."

"You mean you won't have that with me, right?" he asks her, suddenly feeling hollow but angry, disappointed…hurt. "You can't have that with me because I'm but a thief?"

"No!" she exclaims furiously. "I can't have that because I'm the Evil Queen. I don't get to have a happy ending. Villains don't get happy endings." He is about to protest that she's not a villain, she did some bad things but she's not evil...just a person cruelly treated by the world who might have mishandled some things, made mistakes. But he doesn't get to say anything because she rallies on: "I'm not worth it, Robin, not worth that much."

He doesn't believe that, can't believe that, and the thought alone that she actually does, makes his breath hitch and anger to pulse through him in waves. He grunts as he pulls her to him once more, kissing the daylights out of him, ignoring her protests and kissing her and kissing her until she melts into his arms.

She actually whimpers when he lets go of her.

But he cups her cheeks and stares right into her eyes, deep into her soul, his lips peppering soft kisses everywhere on her face.

"I need you to listen to me, and listen to me well, your Majesty," he says lightly, but his eyes boring into hers should let her know how serious he is (and it must have because her breath hitches and she starts shaking her head—he silences her with a kiss). "I love you, Regina Mills. I love you so much it's almost ridiculous. But it's not, it's beautiful. Loving you is beautiful. It's like finding a piece of me that I never even thought was missing, much less existed, until I met you. It's like having my heart broken and then you come along and glued it back together. I was so determined not to know you much less love you, because I thought, just as you do now, that you were just the Evil Queen. But my love, you have to realize that you're more than just that facet. You're Regina Mills—mother, daughter, friend, warrior, survivor, lover. Sure you were once the evil queen, but would you really let that define you? Let everyone else define you in any way? You are your own person and I love that about you. I love everything about you, even the parts that  _you_  don't like—I love them. And I will continue to love all of them, all of you enough for the both of us, until you learn to love yourself fully." He kisses away the tears that have run down her cheeks. "I love you Regina Mills. I love you, and you're more than just my happy ending, my second chance, you are my home."

He hears her breath hitch, can physically see the heartbreak in her eyes.

"Robin," she gasps out but he shushes her with a kiss.

"You don't have to say anything," he tells her gently. "You don't have to say it back yet because I know you're not ready. It's enough for me to know that you feel something in return." She nods at that. "I will keep loving you regardless, and will say I love you a million times until you're ready to say it back."

She smiles at him and pulls his head down to kiss him. She smiles into their kiss as he feels her pour all the feelings that she couldn't express through words in their kiss, and that makes his heart flutter.

He pulls away. "And as for having a family," he begins with a smile. "We don't have to, just now…but you know what they say." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making her laugh.

"What do they say, Robin Hood?" she asks saucily with a swipe of her tongue on his lips.

He swallows. "Practice makes perfect."

She raises and eyebrow at him before he swoops down and snatches her lips in a kiss. He slips his tongue in without preamble and explores every crevice and every cavern of her mouth. He loves the way she tastes, loves the way her mouth seems to fit perfectly with his—like they are made for each other.

He backs her onto the bed, chuckling when the back of her knees hit the mattress and she topples over and she brings her with him, her hands clasping his lapels. She kisses him and he lets her roam her hands every where she pleases, undoing his buttons and unzipping and unclasping whatever constraints he has on his clothes. Her palm lands past his navel where he is rock hard and tenting his trousers.

"You know what would make me feel even better?" she asks as she coasts her hands up and down his back, her lips and teeth nipping, nibbling and kissing against his chest. He mumbles a grunting  _what_  as he drops his head on the mattress near his head. "You and some cheesecake."

He looks down at her and finds that adorable yet sexy as hell suggestive look on her face and he groans. He does love when she gets inventive like this. Standing up and shedding his clothes on his way (she does the same), he goes to retrieve the cheesecake Granny has so kindly baked for her. He could just about kiss Granny now, in retrospect, though he doesn't think that is going to go over well with his hot-tempered love.

He places the cheesecake at the bed, just right beside where she is perched naked as the day she's born. She grins at him when his stare lingers a little longer at her breasts, his nose flaring and breath hitching.

He dives in to kiss her, making her giggle—which is replaced quickly by a moan when he cups her breasts in his hands, flicking his thumb lightly over and over against her nipple. He leans down to capture one rosy bud in his mouth, suckling roughly just the way she likes, making her whimper.

"You're so goddamn sexy my love," he whispers against her skin as he lifts his head. He frees his hand momentarily to swipe at the cake and smear what he supposes is a cheese mixture of some sort onto her breasts. Without a word, he ducks his head down and suckles, cleaning up the cheesy mixture off of her skin, nipping and kissing, sucking and nibbling all the way. When he'd cleaned her up the best he could, he lifts his head and gives her a grin. "Delicious."

He then proceeds to smear more of that cheesecake on her skin, down her stomach, a but past her navel, his tongue following soon after, clearing the path off the delicious treat. It is rather delicious, he thinks, and is even better with some Regina in it.

He lets his hands coast down the length of her thigh, going down immediately to her core where she is hot and wet, and he lets his fingers run up and down her slit, before he leans down and lets his tongue play with her hardened bundle of nerves. She lets out a moan of surprise, her hips bucking into him, and he holds onto her hips to keep her steady. He doesn't let up, not even when her fingers grasp his hair and tug. He flicks his tongue over and over again at her clit, the taste of the sweet confection mixing with the wonderful taste of her, and he moans. The vibrations make her buck her hips again, and he chuckles against her sex.

"Robin," she murmurs, sounding hoarse and husky, and so goddamned sexy.

She's close, he knows it, can feel it through the pulsing of her muscles against his fingers from where it is lodged deep inside her, pumping, pumping, thrusting in and out, his tongue relentlessly lapping at her until she's orgasming, his name falling from her lips in a strangled scream. He pumps his fingers in and out of her for a while and lets her ride out her orgasm as he crawls up her body and kisses her lips.

"I love you," he whispers against her lips and she smiles against their kiss.

When she's come down from her high, she pushes at his shoulders making him lie back.

"Two can play this game," she says, proceeding to swipe at the now ruined cheesecake and smear the cheese—cream mixture all over his hardened, and painfully erect cock. She swoops down and swallows him without preamble, sucking him deep in her throat, making him groan and moan, head thrashing against the pillow. His hand fists against her hair, and she goes to pull him deeper into her throat.

Watching her bob her head up and down and the feeling of her mouth on him is his undoing, and he will, come, jesus, he will come this way if she doesn't stop.

"Stop, baby, please," he pleads, pulling at her hair slightly to make her stop.

She lets him go with a pop, her lips turning up into a smug smirk.

Instead of dignifying that smug smirk with a response, he pulls her to him and turns her on her side. Angling her legs so that all of her is bared to him, he slips inside and starts pounding, pounding and just pounding into her until he feels her spasming, her muscles clenching nearly bringing him into climax, himself. But he holds on, holds off coming, in favor of fucking her more, deeper, harder, making her come once more on his cock.

He changes angles, flips her so she's on all fours and his hands fists against her hair, pulling roughly enough that has her moaning loudly, gasping out a breathy  _more_. He pounds into her, the healthy sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, until they both erupt, together, each calling the other's name huskily.

He collapses on top of her as she still lay on her back, and kisses along her spine. He pulls himself up and she rolls on her back, sighing dreamily. He smiles and makes himself go check on his son who he knows must be in the room next to Regina's (and God since when did that become trek?). He comes back to her bedchamber once he's made sure that Roland is safe and sound and  _in_  bed and the slips in the sheets, pulling her to him and holding her close.

"I love you," he whispers against her skin as he ghosts kisses on her shoulder before he lets sleep claim him.

That night, as she sleeps in his arms, Regina Mills sleeps restfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know i know yeast infection. Blah blah blah. Regina scrubbed her skin and her snatch inside out and turned it to clean for good measure.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Robin believes in patience.

Really, he does. How else could he have been able to lead a band of rowdy  _merry_ men?

Only, he hadn't realized how much his hot tempered love could put his patience through such rigorous test. There is only so much that a man can take, and this whole new game that Regina has decided to play with him, well, that is more than he could.

She had told him this morning, without any preamble, that he isn't allowed to touch her, at all, and that had baffled him, thinking he might have done something to piss her off but coming up nil, until he'd seen the mischievous smile in her face and the devilish glint in her eyes.

Of course, she is playing a game with him.

Minx.

So he'd walked with his son to the hall to have breakfast, after her request to be left alone in her chambers to get ready and she'll meet them there. He'd agreed, eyeing her with curiosity and caution—whatever game she's playing with him, he isn't about to lose it.

Of course, he hadn't taken into account everything that is in her arsenal, namely her wonderful arse he had just spent the whole night worshipping. She enters the hall with a smirk, throwing a coy look his way when his eyes widened in surprise.

There is his queen, decked out in a lavish red velvet gown that showcased her lethally wonderful arse and should be illegal. The front is low cut (and by that he means, one wrong move and her tits would hang out) and is meant not only to cover her assets but bare it enough to tempt any man. He had even seen some of his own Merry Men eyeing her heatedly, like they want to do to her what he does to her every night.

And she knows it too.

He glares at her, just as Roland spots the Queen and runs up to her, and she doesn't even get to see the heat of his stare. She bends down, displaying in its full glory her bottom which would make even a saint to ogle her. She  _is_ the Evil Queen—equal part heaven and sin, temptation and a blessing.

She only smirks at him when she stands up right, Roland now on her hip and they both walk to where the Charmings are. They both sit down for breakfast, Roland not leaving Regina's lap even as he asks the Prince for stories about ogres once more, to which the Prince only gamely indulges his son. Regina's attention doesn't stray from Roland too, as she pats his curls, runs her fingers through it, as she talks to Princess Snow about something to the other. Robin has never thought he'd even be jealous of a four year old, but he  _is_  now.

Fuming, he gobbles up his breakfast in no time, and then storms out of the hall, choosing to make the customary patrol now just to get away from his tempting little minx. If he doesn't, he's afraid he'd take her right then and there on the table for all to see, and he isn't exactly sure that is honorable or pleasing. So he roams the parameter of the castle for any of the simian armies that the Wicked Witch is so fond of.

By the time he comes back to the castle, his stomach is grumbling and he is a few minutes late for lunch. He heads straight to the dining hall where everyone has already congregated, the Queen included, who has now changed into something he thinks is akin to a riding gear—red velvet cape, black leather pants that look delectably sinful, especially when she turns around, and a lowcut slip of a thing that he doubts would hold up at all should the wind blow hard.

He shouldn't be thinking of her as a commodity, should not be thinking lewd thoughts about her at all, but he is just a man, a hot-blooded man who has been so accustomed into slipping himself inside her wet heat, and well, he does so love her body, mind and heart.

He spies his son next to the Queen and she is attending to him, cutting his portions of meat and listening to him as she tells her stories of what he's gotten up to since breakfast. The Queen nods and asks the right questions, and he's pretty sure that he falls more in love with her at every passing minute.

She is beautiful, strong, and he cares for his son like a mother would.

With a sigh and a twinge of regret that he doesn't have the privilege like his son does, to sit next to her on the Royal's table, he walks over to his band of Merry Men and listens to them with drifting attention of what they plan to do for the day, which bases they have yet to cover, wishing more than anything that he could just be next his lover.

Sighing, he storms off the dining hall much like he had this morning, bow and arrow in hand. He walks and walks, not really caring where he is going, not knowing either, letting his feet take him. He ends up in the middle of the forest, which is of no surprise, and he lifts his weapon in his arm, firing at the unsuspecting trees to exorcise the anger he feels.

It does not feel logical at all, but with all his blood rushing down to his half erect cock (and just from the thoughts of the Queen), he doesn't think he could be logical any time soon.

**…**

Regina watches as Robin stalks off the dining hall just after lunch with slight disappointment. He's barely acknowledged her at all today, and she understands it, at some level, she did tell him this morning that he can't touch her in any way at all.

Of course, that is just a game she's playing with him, wanting to see how long he will last with not touching her. She had thought he'd have cornered her after breakfast, but he hadn't.

She knows where to find him, though, and after entrusting Roland to Snow, making sure the princess knows that Regina would be after her head if Roland has so much as a scratch by the time she gets back, she follows after her thief. She intends to play with him a little more before possibly luring him to her bedroom to spend the rest of the afternoon together tangled in her sheets. But the sound of making love in the open forest seems tempting too, she supposes.

She does find him in the forest, not surprisingly. And he is firing arrow after arrow at the tree he's designated as his target. His back is tensed and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, and she lets her eyes wonder down, down, down, only to find his mast half erect by now.

"I see you've been busy," she says in a sultry tone that has worked many, many, many times.

He doesn't say anything, only continues to fire his arrows at the poor tree. She waves her hand just as one arrow flies, making it halt and fall to the ground. Finally, he turns to her and faces him with a raised eyebrow.

"So have you," he says with gritted teeth, only looking at her with beady eyes.

She has never seen him angry, mostly he deals with everything with a cool head, and she's always the one who flies off the handle, but he seems like he is now, and it's all because of sexual frustration. She mentally pats her back.

"Me?" she asks with feign innocence. "Whatever have I done?"

He stalks off to her and gets up to her face, careful not to grab her or touch any part of her. So he  _is_  interested in winning, she thinks to herself with a chuckle. Well, no one actually loses in this game.

"You know what you're doing," he says before turning away and picking up right where he left off, firing at the poor tree in rapid successions.

"Care to play a game?" she asks him, making him turn his head and glare at her.

"I was under the impression you're already playing one," he tells her gruffly, his grip on his bow going tighter.

She laughs, precisely and calculatedly. "Well, I was thinking more of a sparring session," she tells him, waving her hand and conjuring two swords which fall to her feet with a clink. She picks them up and hands him one. "It's been so long since I have played with a sword."

"I think you were playing with one last night," he quips, surprising her and making her chuckle. He smirks at her, proud of himself for that little retort. He takes the sword from her hand and swishing it around to test its heaviness. "If a sparring match is what milady wants, it is what milady gets."

Her heart flutters at the endearment she's now come to love (oh who is she kidding? She's always loved it, which is why she's been so adamant to make him stop calling her that before).

They clink their swords together before they begin their match. It is a tight fight, he is almost as good with his sword as he is with his bow and arrow and she is impressed. A few moments later and Regina finds herself on her back, with Robin on top of her.

"Hello, there," he says with a grin, leaning down to kiss her.

She knows she's supposed to not let him touch her, but his hardness nudging her leg is making her brain all mushy and she can't think as heat pools low in her belly. She pulls him by the collar and crushes their lips together, giving him no time to react before she's pushing her tongue inside his mouth. She moans when her tongue slides with his, and she feels the moment he regains equilibrium because he is pushing against her, fighting for dominance.

She lets him roll them over, their swords now laying haphazardly on the grass next to them, but neither of them cares at the moment. His deft fingers peel away her heavy coat, baring to him the bejeweled slip she's specifically worn to knock him off his socks. She rocks her hips down onto him hardened member, moaning as she did so.

"I've been wanting to touch this all day," he whispers huskily, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. One hand lifts and reaches to untie her slip until her tits are bared to him, making him moan. "Beautiful, you are beautiful."

She doesn't find the time to answer when she feels his nimble fingers pulling and twisting the rosy peaks of her breasts, making her grind down on to him, riding him even through layers of clothing.

"Magic it away," he asks, almost pleadingly, and she looks at him questioningly. "Our clothes." Ah. "Magic our clothes away."

She does as he bids, waving her hand to make their clothes disappear from their body. He sits up, with her still straddling his lap, and attaches his mouth to one breast, sucking in the pebbled bud while one of his hand plays with its twin. His other hand comes to grip her waist, pushing her down to his erect member, and instinctively she knows what he wants. She rocks back and forth, back and forth, coating his length in her wetness all the while trying to get friction in her clit.

She presses her lips to his forehead as she runs her fingers through his locks before she feels him stand with her legs still wrapped around his waist. He walks over to the nearest tree and places her down gently, before asking her to turn around and brace herself against the bark.

She does as he says, bending a bit on her waist, moaning when he finally slips inside her, his hard shaft expanding the walls of her cunt. His hands span her waist, gripping it tightly enough that she is sure it would leave bruises, but she doesn't care, not when he is pounding behind her, hard and fast, stealing away all her thoughts.

"Robin," she moans out, grunting, and hearing him growl deep in his throat.

"You're so wet, my love," he murmurs as he leans down to kiss her neck, or more like nip at it. "Is this why you've been playing with me? You get all hot when I'm bothered hmm?"

She nods, not really knowing where to find her coherence when he's nailing her from behind like that, against a tree, no less. She asks him not to stop, asks him to keep going, instead, more, more hmm, Robin, yes, just like that, right there, Robin, god.

One of his hands come up to play with her breasts again as his teeth and tongue play with the succulent flesh of her neck and throat, his hard shaft doing things to her that should be banned, well, no not really, only that he should do it to her, and only her.

She feels a fluttering low in her abdomen and she knows it won't be long, the way Robin frantically pushes against her tells her he won't be long either. And she urges him to give it to her more, she does like it the hard way, and she thanks the heavens above that he doesn't disappoint. He pounds into her like a mad man, the flesh of his pelvis hitting the soft flesh of her arse until she's coming and coming, his name escaping her lips in a scream, before he follows, growling and grunting and calling out her name.

She falls into his arms, limp and boneless but very, very satisfied. He slides down to the ground with her in his arms.

"I knew you won't last long without touching me," she teases, as she cuddles into his lap, face burrowing into his chest. She waves her hand and magics back their clothes—just in case.

He chuckles and kisses her forehead. "Well, you  _are_ hard to resist, my love," he admits, running his hand up and down her back soothingly, making her feel drowsy and sleepy. He must have noticed because he kisses her forehead once more and rocks her. "Go to sleep."

She doesn't try to fight it.

**..**

When Regina wakes later, the skies are bursting in orange and purple hues, signaling that the day is almost done. She hasn't done much today, and she's sure that everyone must be looking for them now. She stares at her lover, who has fallen asleep sitting, his back against the tree, and she's sure it will hurt when he wakes.

She runs her fingers through his hair and then down his face before she leans up to kiss his lips. He is a beautiful specimen of a man, and she knows that she doesn't deserve him, but there is a force up in there that thought to pair the Evil Queen with someone as honorable as Robin Hood.

The man with the lion tattoo.

"Your thoughts are so loud, I can hear you thinking," he murmurs, eyes still closed, startling her.

She chuckles and reaches up to kiss him again. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," he admits, "Then I felt your hands." He opens his eyes now and cranes his neck left and right to try and soothe the kinks out of undoubtedly knotted muscles.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I didn't mean to wake you."

He shakes his head. "It's okay, we should be heading back anyway."

She nods, looking down. She feels his fingers grasp her chin and lift her head so their eyes are level.

"What is it?" he asks, concerning lacing his eyes.

"Nothing," she says, to which he shoots her a look of disbelief. "I just never thought I'd have this. I always thought I wasn't the one for happy endings."

She doesn't say that she's once thought it is within her reach only it had been abruptly stolen away from her by her own mother.

"Why not?", he asks as if he doesn't grasp the idea of her not being able to have second chances.

She really doesn't deserve them. She knows that, but he doesn't seem to believe it.

"Because I'm the evil queen," she tells him with a shrug, accepting of the fate that has been handed to her by now. She cannot love, because everything she loves gets taken away from her. "I'm a villain and villains don't get happy endings."

"Like I've said before, you aren't a villain, you aren't the Evil Queen anymore," he tells her with a soft voice and she almost believes it. "You have done some things before, but we all make mistakes, and now, I know you regret them, because you won't think like this if you don't." He leans down and kisses her softly. "But Regina, everyone deserves a second chance. And you, you do too. There are so many roads you can take, and I'm sure that there is a bright future waiting for you at every turn, even if you miss one."

"Do you really believe that?" she asks him, almost shyly, wanting so much to just believe it too.

"Yes," he says with a nod. "And I will believe it for you until you believe it too." He pulls her closer and kisses her. "I love you." The words scare her and haunt her and she opens her mouth to tell him that he shouldn't, but he shakes his head. "One day I'll prove to you that you are worth the love you're given."

She smiles, she hopes for that too.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The moon glows up in the sky strikingly, brightly, and for that, Robin is thankful. The silver light bounced off her skin and made shadows dance across her face, making her look like a goddess, ethereal, something that is a figment of his hyperactive imagination. If they are in Lake Nostros, she'd be the siren come to end his life. Only, she won't be drowning him. She would be using tactics far more fatal, far more superior in killing him.

Currently, her hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping him, gentle then hard, alternating her speed as she kisses him out of his wits. He is submerged waist deep in water, while she stands before him, the water just hitting her chest as the ripples ensured that he gets a glimpse of her naked breasts.

It is her bloody idea, of course. The ever adventurous queen had this brilliant idea of bathing in the lake this late at night. It's almost spring, yes, but the water is still supposed to be cold, especially at night. But she had been seductive and tempting, promising him that the water would be warm enough. He hadn't wanted to believe her, but she did it, made the water just as warm as she'd promised. And he has no bloody idea how she did it because the bodies of water flow and are supposed to be large, but she did it.

So here they are now, with him backed to a boulder, and she is in front of him driving him insane with ever stroke of her hand down on his fully erect shaft. She is smirking at him, every so often licking her lips and biting down on them, surely to drive him insane.

"Regina," she gasps out, in plea, in warning, he isn't even sure anymore. All he knows is that he needs her, needs to be inside her and needs to relieve this ache that is starting to build.

"It's Your Majesty," she teases, mock angrily, even though he can see the twinkle in her eyes and the mischievous smirk is still in place, " _thief."_ She slides her free hand down his chest as she leans in and kisses his breath away, and there is nothing else he can do but moan against her mouth. It prompts her to shove her tongue inside, coaxing his to a passionate dance, before she retracts, and then in again, out, in, mimicking what he wishes to do in her  _other_  lip, once this torture is over.

For it  _is_  torture, sweet, sweet torture, but torture nonetheless and he isn't entirely sure if he wants it to end or continue. His hand are lay limp beside him, she must have enchanted it somehow because he cannot, for the life of him, move it. He wants to touch her, caress her creamy flesh glistening from the fresh water, wants to cup her beautiful breast and pinch her rosy nipples. And more than anything, he wants to pull her close, tangle his fingers in her raven black hair and wreak havoc to her mouth, kiss her senseless until they are both panting, lungs burning from the need for air.

God, he wants her.

"Regina," he breathes out against her cheek when his forehead falls onto his shoulder, he lifts his hand (and thank heavens it is working again) and snakes it around her waist, as he keeps kissing her neck, cheeks, lips, wherever he could reach with far less movement. Nothing fazes the Queen however, as she keeps pumping him, intent on her purpose—which is probably to make this end before it begins.

"If you don't stop, I'm going to come in your hands," he warns with a growl, pulling back just enough to try and regain control. He looks her directly into her eyes, and loses himself in her brown orbs, the depth in them drowning him.

She smirks, then. "We can't have that now, can we?" she asks, slowing down the movements of her hand until he grasps her wrist and makes her stop completely. He pulls her hand away from his hardened length, and lifts it so he could place a kiss on her wrist.

"No we cannot," he agrees, and then he's turning, pushing her against the boulder with roughness that he realizes she enjoys (Regina seems to like things the hard way, and what delight that is). Before she can say something snarky or make a sound or even just comprehend when the tables had been turned on her, he is leaning down and kissing her, taking her mouth in a hard, passionate kiss that is almost bruising in its intensity. He slips his tongue past the seams of her lips uninvited, eliciting a moan from her, deep from her throat, and it makes his cock jump and for shivers to run down his spine.

He shifts his head, changing the angle to be able to kiss her deeper, and the things that he had been unable to do when she had bewitched him (pumped him, more likely) a few moments ago he feels like he can freely do now. So he tangles his fingers through her hair and pushes her closer to him with the help of his other hand which has travelled down his waist. He lets it travel far down and cups her bottoms, her delectable ass which has always been a source of distraction. He wonders how he's not been called on it yet by his men, and he always likes to think that he's just to sly, but knows that somehow it is not the case (and it is actually just because they are too scared that the Queen should char them to crisp should she overhear them talk about her lovely, delicious behind).

"Robin," it is her turn to moan now, and it makes him smirk, his fingers ghosting the flesh of her cheeks, trailing down to the back of her thighs and then up again, up, up her spine and travelling to the front where he cups her naked breasts and tugs her hardened nipples.

"You know what they say about payback," he murmurs against her delectable throat as he lines kisses down her flesh, delighting in the sight of goose bumps rising against her beautiful skin.

Her hands are flying everywhere, too, it seems, and she's running it down his chest, to the muscles down his stomach. She runs her fingers down the trail of hair from the middle of his chest to his waist, right directly where he is standing tall and ready for her.

He doesn't let her, though, and before she knows it and before she can protest really, he moves a little way from the boulder, and he is lifting her by the waist up on the shore. She looks at him with trepidation, one that doesn't last long when he stands before her, prying her legs open gently with his hands. He rests those beautiful gams over his shoulder and then kisses his way up her inner thighs, up and down, letting his tongue peek out every so often to taste her scrumptious skin. Her fingers find their way through his hair, weaving, tugging, telling him without words that he should hurry the fuck up.

Oh, but she's going to have to wait.

"Patience, Majesty," he teases, nuzzling his nose against the skin of her left thigh and then licking. He can feel the heat radiating off of her, and he basks in it, basks in the beauty of his love—impatient as she is.

"You dare make your Queen wait, thief?" she asks with the most dignified, regal tone she can muster while at his mercy, throwing him a look of indignation for good measure, but he only chuckles, amused at the lengths she is willing to go just to come.

She shan't worry. She is going to come, alright. She just needs to wait.

"Robin," she says, and he knows that it is as good as a plea as he would get because she  _is_  the Queen, and she won't beg him for anything, not even an orgasm. "Make me come, or I'll take the matters into my own hands."

Won't that be interesting, he muses, looking at her naked form as she lies on the shore, arms at her side, legs spread open, waiting for him to bring her to orgasm.

It seems that she knows exactly what he wants though, for her pliant arms now move up her body. One of her hand cups her own breast, pulling and pinching at her nipple, as the other moves down, down, to her nether lips where she is hot and throbbing, for  _him_ , always and only for him.

She flicks her fingers against her clit first, rubs it gently at first, then picks up her pace, and then she alternates between hard and fast and soft and slow. He can't move then, eyes trained on her hands, her fingers moving up and down her cunt. He rubs his hands up and down her thighs and it only seems to spur her own because she pushes her fingers inside her then, thrusting in and then out, in, out, in out, until she's mewling, gasping his name as she brings herself to the edge.

"Robin, mmhmm," she moans out, her hips bucking when she curls her finger and thrusts, and it's what springs him to action. He bats her hand away, replacing it with his own, thrusting in and out of her hard and fast. He sees her move her hands up t her breasts, playing with them, moaning when she pinches it just as he flicks his tongue against her clit.

It doesn't take long before she's coming and coming, and he pulls his fingers out and just laps at her, licks her clean. When she comes down her high, words are not necessary, instead she just pushes her body down the water once more, wrapping her legs around his waist and aligning their throbbing sexes. The moan that escapes them is mutual and loud when he slips around her, and it only takes a few well paced thrust, a good angle and their both gone, careening over to the edge and screaming each other's name loud enough to wake the whole damn forest.

**ooo**

"Let's play a game, Majesty!" the littlest Locksley asks her as he runs toward her at the gardens, crashing against her leg on that wonderful, beautiful morning. He looks up at her with his big brown eyes and little pout. His dimples peek through his cheeks, and she can't ever resist that.

It makes her chuckle internally that coming from a different Locksley, that request had an entirely  _different_  meaning.

She crouches down until her eyes are level with the boy's, and smiles, patting his head full of curly brown hair.

"Of course, my little knight," she acquiesces. They are light years away from finding a solution to their annoying green witch problem, and she had been holed up in the library for quite a few days now going through book after book with less than pleasant results. It won't hurt to spend this day out with the little boy. Anyway, she has spent way too many months shying away from any form of human contact when they first got there, and she's tired of it.

She misses her son, yes, with all her heart and all her soul and no amount of laughter can ease the pain in her heart or ever make her truly, fully happy without him there, but she is learning to accept that there might never be a way to get back to him, and perhaps he is better off now, back in the land where there is no magic, for he is as far away as he could be from the dangers should he have been here. She's found, somewhat, a limbo in which her heart breaks every single day that she is away from her son, but she is somewhat slowly healing because she knows he is better for it.

"What can we play?" Roland asks her, tugging on her skirts, bringing her back to the present. She looks at the child once more and clears her head from the memories. She'll keep them in a vault in her head and take them out to look at later on.

"Anything you like," she tells him with a smile before she stands up and straightens, brushing her skirts out of habit. "But we must have breakfast first, okay?"

The boy looks seriously thoughtful for a moment, making Regina smile, before he nods solemnly. She offers her hand to him and he takes it, leading (more like dragging) her to the hall where breakfast is being served.

She chuckles at the boy's enthusiasm. She does like hanging around children more than she does with adults. Adults are boring and complicated, full of conflict, aware of feelings from the extreme sides of the spectrum, but children—they take everything at face value. They know nothing of hate or jealousy or of love that binds someone to the other, like she has once done to Henry. They have a zest for life that has long since departed the adults because of all the misery in life.

When they enter the hall, Robin is not yet there, and she wonders why. Of course, she and Roland have been flanked by his men on the way to the hall, so she'd just assumed that he's already there.

Apparently not.

She surveys the room and finds Snow and her husband already sitting at their usual table and so she carries Roland over, her legs wrapping around her waist. He is animated this morning, as he usually is every other morning, telling her a fantastical tale of last night's dream.

Charming greets her with a nod of his head when she reaches them, while Snow in her usual cheerfulness and disgusting optimism, greets her with a smile, an overdone 'good morning' that should rival her Disney movie self, and a hug that Regina could very well do without. Roland soaks up the attention that Snow lavishes her with as he settles himself in his rightful throne which is Regina's lap. Even David is animated in his greeting of the child.

Regina frowns as she looks over the Merry Men's table. Almost half of them aren't there.

"They are out on patrol," Snow answers her unspoken question, glancing the same way she is. "There had been an irregular activity early this morning deep in the forest, so Robin led half his men there to check."

What a stupid idiot.

"Irregular activity?" Regina asks with a pointed raising of her eyebrow.

"Well, there is a flock of flying monkeys flying in circles over there, but other than that we know nothing until they report back," Snow supplies though it is everything but helpful.

"And no one thought to tell me?" Regina asks incredulously. "The only practitioner of this land who is not deranged or under that witch's mercy, and no one tells me?"

"Regina," Snow placates, shooting a look at Roland who seems to have sensed the change in Regina's mood and has turned from his conversation with the prince to look at  _his_  majesty with wonder. "I know you're worried, but Robin thought it wasn't necessary to wake you."

What a stupid, stupid thief, she fumes deep inside. If she confronts him about, he'll cite last night's rigorous activities by the lake as his reason for not waking her up. She needs to conserve her energy, he'll insist. But that is just bollocks, just bonkers, because it takes two for mattress Macarena, and though she might have given him a show last night, she definitely had not reached many, many orgasms last night by herself.

Regina purses her lips in a thin line, trying not to snap at anyone, and tries to concentrate to the day ahead of her. After all, she has promised a certain little boy that she is going to play with him today.

Breakfast is a quiet affair, after then, except for the little boy's oblivious blubbering from where he is seated on her lap.

**ooo**

Robin finds his lover and his son playing in the garden when he comes back from his patrol in the forest. It had been nothing, nothing important that he shan't even bother talk to her about it, but he knows he shall and will discuss with Regina, hoping to all the Gods that she won't flip at him for not waking her up and asking her to come with him.

She is the only with magic, she'll insist. But what she doesn't understand that while her magic is powerful, it is also not enough. It cannot solve all of her problems. Besides, if he'd go along her argument and accept it, she's the only one who has it in this whole goddamn realm and she needs to conserve it.

"Papa!" his boy shouts in delight once he spots him.

Roland and Regina are playing tag, with Regina being the 'it', and despite her high heels and skin tight leather pants, she's chasing his son under the sun and laughing while she does it.

"My boy!" Robin says, opening his arms and catching his son once he jumps into them. Over Roland's shoulder, he risks a look at his hot-tempered Queen, and finds her staring at him with heat, and not the heat he prefers, but the kind of heat that tells him he should sleep with one eye open tonight because she's going to rip his balls out if he so much as closes his eyes.

She's pissed.

"—and Majesty and I rode a horse, and then played tag, and she almost caught me, but I'm faster," his boy rambles on, but Robin cannot quite take his eyes off of Regina, "Papa! Papa! Listen to me!" his little boy demands, cupping his face with his little hands and forcing him to look.

"I'm sorry my boy," Robin says seriously and solemnly, "but I cannot help but look at Majesty, she looks breathtakingly beautiful today." A few compliments should help alleviate her anger, shouldn't it?

Roland huffs at him, crossing his arms around his little chest, but then nods, agreeing with him. Regina, however, is a different story, because it is clear that she's not buying any of his crap today, even if what he is saying is true.

And no, it doesn't help at all.

"Look, Roland, why don't you go look for Snow and ask when dinner will be ready," Regina instructs. "Tell her that Regina says you can help."

This makes the boy considerably enthused, and he wriggles out of his father's grasp and down on to the ground, sprinting into the castle, with Robin's own men following after him. Robin wants to sink into a hole.

He scratches his head. "I should go make sure he doesn't actually pester the Princess," Robin says, trying to get out of her wrath. But why is she actually angry? So he put himself in a potentially dangerous situation. Well, isn't that her motto?

"No, you, outlaw, are coming with me," she says, and before he can ask what she means, purple cloud surrounds them and they are transported to the middle of the forest.

Well, isn't that just bloody perfect then? Plenty of space for her to hurl things, and such a large clearing that she could scream her and his bloody head off without anyone hearing. She can even murder him out here and no one would know.

"Regina—," he begins, putting his hand up and wishing she would listen so he could explain.

"How dare you," she hisses, her voice full of venom and her eyes filled with anger…and something else, something he'd venture to say as concern.

Isn't that something?

She has time and again expressed her concern about him going away, but he does so love it when she is concerned about him.

"How dare you go off on your own like that?" she rails on, "Without thought and without telling me too! Do you have any idea what the hell you could have gotten into! You have no idea what she's capable of."

He smiles at her, though it comes out more like a grimace, really. "Look, Regina, nothing happened, I'm here unscathed. Let's just forget about it. Let's not fight."

"You have no idea what you were getting in to!" she screams as though she hasn't heard him. She looks like she wants to set the whole forest on fire but something flashes in her eyes and then it's gone. She looks at him, defeated. "What if you'd died? What if it was a trap from that bitch and she killed you? What then?"

Her fears are genuine, and it melts his heart and so he pulls her close to him and places a kiss to her forehead.

"But nothing did," he tells her softly, feeling her grip on him tighten. "And nothing will. I'm not going anywhere. I'm in here for the long haul."

She shakes her head but doesn't speak, and he hopes that somehow, it's helped calm her down considerably.

He sighs. "However, love, I found this," he says, reaching into his back pocket and producing a gem of some sort. He doesn't know what it is, only knows that it must mean something because it's green and glowing, and who else would be leaving that out there lying in the open where those horrid winged beasts would be flocking all over it.

Regina pulls back and takes the gem from his hand and examines it closely, but there is no desired effect (not one that  _he_  desires), but he supposes he should be thankful that it hasn't knocked Regina off her feet.

"What is it then?" he asks her, but she only remains passive, studying still the green gem he's found. He's beginning to think that it's nothing of value, but then again he's not the one with magic.

"I don't know," Regina says slowly, shaking her head. "We'd better get back and ask the bookworm to have a look at it, maybe she's come across one of it somehow."

He nods and they make their way back to the castle. He remains silent, and so does she, but he cannot help but be worried.

**..**

Regina closes her fists over the green gem with a certain degree of contempt. If she's not careful, she might end up crushing it, she knows, so she eases her hand and sighs. Whatever this is, it can't be anything good. Her heart trip hammers inside her chest.

Beside her, Robin walks with anxiety seeping out at his every pore. She knows he's worried for his son, worried for his safety and the safety of everyone in the castle. But she knows that he's also worried that she might face the Green Bitch alone. It isn't something he should be worried about, she supposes. She's many things, but stupid is not one of them.

She isn't going to attack that wicked witch without any sort of plan, that's the Charming's MO, not hers.

When they get to the castle, the scene that greets them is not at all what she had expected. Granted, this is the Enchanted Forest and nothing ever is what anyone might expect. She's a character from a fairytale, for Christ sake, find anyone who would expect that.

Zelena stands right in the middle of the open gardens, hand flicking in the air as she commands her ugly winged monkeys to wreak havoc to the castle. Regina will have a hard time fixing it all up later, and so she fumes and fumes at her sister who is quite literally making everything hell.

Regina wonders what it could be this time, Snow hasn't given birth yet, and won't for another three months, Zelena has Rumple, too, so it isn't like there is anything else here that she could get that warrants her terrorizing the people residing in the castle. Regina knows though that her main agenda is to make Regina's life a living hell until she can very well destroy her, and so anything that might infuriate Regina would probably do.

Regina realizes with a start that the green gem is only some sort of distraction, nothing of consequential value. It is something to make heads and tails of until she's destroyed the protection spell Regina's put all over the castle.

What a bitch.

"What the hell is your problem?" she asks Zelena as she runs forward, her thief following suit.

Zelena turns and smirks, her eyes looking deranged (because she probably is, no scratch that, she really actually  _is_ ) and murderous. "Ah," she exclaims with glee, "there's the woman of the hour! I've been looking for you."

"Well, you found me," Regina spats back with venom. "What do you want?"

Zelena cackles. "Nothing yet, dear sister," she says as she flicks her hand again and one flying monkey lunges down on some of the people in the castle who are now gathered behind them. Luckily the fairies managed to block that attack.

Thinking fast, Regina flicks her wrist and transports Robin far from her, behind the fairies where there could be a magical cover.

"Then get the hell out of here, you green witch," she says, leaning back and crossing her arms against her chest. She's scared, nervous, anxious but she isn't about to show her that. If there is anything she's learned from Cora, it's that she shouldn't show her weakness. "Go back to Oz or wherever our mother decided to send you when she decided she didn't want you."

This seems to anger Zelena because she's throws a spell her way, which she blocks with her magic. She throws a fireball to Zelena's way, which the redhead dodges perfectly. It goes on for a while, until Zelena flicks her wrist, catching Regina by surprise, because it throws her off her feet.

"I will destroy you, Regina," she says, lifting her hand in the air to summon her broom. "I will destroy you and take from you what I have always deserved."

Regina sighs as she watches her sister fly away. They need to find a way to defeat her, and quick.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"You're tensed," he comments as he stands behind her, his hands going to her shoulders and kneading her tensed muscles. He hears her groan and feels her slump against him. He knows that she's been having a rough time right now, what with the only blood related person in this realm and any other wanting nothing but to kill her and destroy her. He knows it can quite get overwhelming for her, despite the hard, cold mask she wears, despite the facade—he knows that deep inside she's hurt too.

It never seems like she can quite catch a break.

"I can't help it," she murmurs, turning around in his arms and wrapping her own around his waist. He likes this, likes when she lets her walls down, lets him comfort her, lets him be there for her even if he knows that she doesn't necessarily need him, but she lets him stay. "I can accept wanting to kill me, I get that, a lot of people want to do that. But why is she ruining everyone else in the process? Not that I could judge, I'd been exactly the same."

There is regret that tinges her voice, though he knows that there isn't much that Regina regrets about her action because it's brought her son to her. But still, she's right, there is no point to that much destruction in pursuit of one person, and even more than that there is no need for that senseless pursuit of Regina because Regina's done nothing to that witch. If there is anyone that that witch should go after, it's definitely their mother. Sadly, she's dead now. Still, that isn't any reason for that green bitch to go after Regina.

"Regina," he begins, holding her closer to him and wishing he could embrace away the pain, kiss her tears from her face and wash away the regrets in her mind and heart. "You've made mistakes, you're making up for them now. Once upon a time you might have made everyone, even yourself believe that you're the evil queen, and maybe you're right and she will always be a part of you, but right now, right this moment you are  _not_  her. You're Regina Mills, just Regina Mills—a strong, beautiful woman with the biggest heart I'd ever seen."

It is the truth, and she should know that, even if she doesn't quite believe it.

"You're stunning, in every way," he tells her, looking at her with all the sincerity he had.

She scoffs and loosens her hold on him completely before making her way in front of her vanity. She flicks her wrist and suddenly a cloud of purple smoke surrounds her. When it clears away, she's no longer in her evil queen garb, but she's in her night gown—a black lace that lets him see through everything—her uncovered breasts and her bare, well, nether parts.

He's known his queen to be temperamental, mercurial even, but it still surprises him sometimes how fast and how quick her mind changes.

"I'm so exhausted of thinking about my stupid sister trying to kill me," she says, her voice dripping with annoyance, as she rolls her eyes. Then she turns to him and walks over (her hips are swaying and swaying and it's an enticing thing to watch—makes his cock hard in an instant), until she's standing right under his nose (it seems she's forgone her heels, too), and pokes his chest with her index finger. With lowered lashes, she looks up at him. "I want to play a game."

**…**

She's done thinking about death, about what her sister could do to her if only she's given a chance (decimate and destroy her comes to Regina's mind rather quickly), and just wants to feel, wants to let go of the tension, and just fuck the thief that she loves. That can't be too hard, now, can it?

She sways her hips more than usual, and gives him a salacious look, smirking when she finds his eyes a darker shade of blue after she utters the words,  _I want to play a game_. And she does, she does want to play a game, to divert her mind from all the bullshit of the day. Their encounter at the forest had been promising, before they'd come back and found that her stupid sister had been terrorizing the people in the castle. Now all she wants is to feel Robin all over her, his lips and teeth and tongue, his fingers and all of him all over her. She needs him.

"Regina…" he trails, looking unsure. Of course he'd want to make sure that she's okay with this, that she's not too upset, otherwise he'd feel as though he's taking advantage of her. He always wants to put her first, and she loves him even more for it, but at this point she just wants to feel him. But right now this is what she wants, this will be what makes her feel better.

"I want to play a game, Robin," she reassures him, her voice dropping sultrily, and her eyes looking up at his with the heat that she feels deep inside. She steps back a little and waves her hand, making a box appear on the bed. She smirks as Robin looks at her curiously. "Let's play the teasing game." Robin's brows furrows further at that and she smiles, leading him to the bed and making him seat as she takes the seat beside him. "We'll play Never Have I Ever."

He nods slowly, as if in trepidation. Then he looks up at her. "Is that it?" he asks.

He probably thinks it will be easy. But no it's not. Of course it's not.

"Basically yes, but we won't be drinking." She lifts the box and opens it to reveal folded pieces of paper inside. "Each paper has a body part written inside. And we'll play the basic never have I ever, but as I said there will be no drinking involved, instead the loser takes a paper, and whichever body part is indicated, we have to suck or lick for ninety seconds. This timer will help us with that part. You are not allowed penetration, not even fingers, and I'm not allowed to give you a hand job, or anything of the sort, and neither is allowed to come. First one to forfeit will have to suck the other to completion. Is it clear?"

His eyes darken as they widen and he nods, slowly at first, then vigorously, smirking at her. Of course he'd like that.

"Let's toss coin on who goes first," she tells him, conjuring a coin for them to use, before handing it to him and letting him flip it. She calls heads, when he tosses, and he slaps the coin to his arm, taking his hand away to reveal a tail. She rolls her eyes. "You can go first." Then she looks him up and down, and no, that just would  _not_  do. She flicks her wrist to remove his clothing, making him chuckle, shaking his head. "Okay, now you can begin."

He smirks at her, that annoying smug (handsome) smirk of his, and she huffs. "Never have I ever sucked a cock," he says and god, he's so predictable.

She rolls her eyes again before reaching for the box. She shuffles it a bit before she picks one and opens the folded paper. "Neck," she reads, and she smiles, knowing where exactly the spot is that drives him wild. He visibly swallows as she crouches and crawls to him, situating herself on his lap as she rests her hands against his chest. Softly, she kisses jaw, down his neck, stopping just above the spot where his shoulder and collar bone meet. She lets her tongue peek out, licking him, moaning at the incredible taste of him, before she bites down on it. She soothes it with her tongue, and then bites down again, but this time she sucks the flesh in, as one of her hand come up to tangle her fingers with his hair. She pulls against the strands, exposing his succulent flesh even better to her, and sucks even harder. She lets his scent invade her senses as she makes quick work of his neck. He'll be sporting a hickey, but his collars would cover it, so who cares? She certainly doesn't, now when he tastes this good.

She hears him moan, feels the sound vibrate from his chest and she smirks against his skin, enjoying what she can do to him with just her mouth. His hands grasp her waist now, squeezing, and she can feel him hardening, and it makes her giddy, makes her want him even more, knowing how easy it is for her to rile him up. She lets up with the sucking and places a soft kiss at her handiwork when the timer beeps, signalling that ninety seconds is over.

She grins wickedly as she clambers off his lap and sits back down to her previous seat as though nothing happened. He glowers at her, but hasn't this been her idea, was it?

"My turn," she says with giddiness in her voice. "Hmmm, never have I ever eaten a pussy." She waggles her eyebrow at him, no doubt, right now he's imagining it. She almost laughs out loud.

He groans and reaches out for the box, with a smirk, and knowing what's coming next, she reaches for the box as well. She laughs outright when he looks up at her with surprise.

"Regina?" he asks, but his voice is strained, as though the image suddenly becomes too much.

"Robin?" she sing-songs as she reaches for the box. "Whichever I pick should work for the both of us." She watches him swallow and she mentally congratulates herself. "Pick your jaw up the floor, darling. So I experimented when I'd been the Evil Queen. I've not since I'd been in Storybrooke."

"It's not that," he murmurs, as though regretful of his actions, but there is a curiosity in his eyes, and she knows, always does, that he would never, could never judge her for anything, he doesn't ever want to. "I'm just…the image is just too much."

She laughs and shakes her head. Men. She picks another folded paper and reads it, "Pussy or Cock," then she laughs, makes a comment about how fitting it is, before she opens her legs to him and raises an eyebrow. So?

He growls and pulls on her open legs until she's lying on her back, spread eagle. He kisses upwards, until he reaches the hem of her nightie and rucks it up her hips, exposing herself to him. He leans in and buries his nose against her cunt, breathing in deeply, making shivers of sheer want course through her. God, she wants him. But she's not going to lose. No, she's not.

She sits up again and crouches, her ass sticking up, before pushing him down so he's the one lying down. She straddles him, and she could feel his hardness standing sliding against her. She smirks at him, before pivoting, presenting her shapely ass at him. She looks back over her shoulder with a sultry smile.

"Might as well just 69, then, don't you think?" she asks him, though it's not a question, as she reaches up for the timer and sets it, before she leans down and licks the length of his hard cock. There's a precum on the head, and she licks that too, before letting her lips encircle just the tip of him. He hears her groan with a mouthful of her pussy, before his tongue licks the length of her slit, up her clit, and sucks down on the little bundle of her nerves, making her buck her hips against his face. It makes her up the ante, the way he could just make her so wanton, so lustful, so wet (not that she's not already, she's been wet since she'd felt his arousal against her bare naked ass when she'd sucked on his neck), so she opens her mouth a little wider, sucks him in a bit harder. He's not the one to be left behind though, because he sucks on her clit harder, lets his tongue lap up so much of her hot wetness, making her moan and groan around his hardened cock in her mouth.

His hips thrust up when she sucks particularly hard, and his cock hits the back of her throat, and she grins wickedly, sucking him just a bit harder, just a bit deeper, until she's deep throating him.

"Regina," he says, pulling away from her wet cunt for a moment, as the feeling overwhelm him. She groans at him and thrusts her hips in the direction of his mouth, telling him without words what she wants him to do. Quickly he obeys, puts his mouth where she's wet and hot and throbbing for him, lets his tongue slide through the length of her slit, once, twice, another time, before he sucks on her clit.

God she's beginning to see stars.

And then the timer beeps.

And she's beginning to hate that piece of shit.

She lets up and climbs off of him, takes a few deep breaths before settling back down on her seat. She wants so much for him to fuck her now, just fuck her hard, deep, fast and rough, again and again until she begs him to stop, until she can't take anymore. But she still has a game to win.

"Next," she says, trying to compose herself long enough. She looks up at him and sees his eyes have turned darker, and his breathing is harsh as he tries to settle.

He needs to cum, too, evidently.

He growls at her. She smirks. This makes an entertaining game, certainly. Frustrating, yes, but definitely entertaining.

"Never have I ever fucked outdoors," he says.

And she rolls her eyes.

Of course.

She hands him the box with a raised eyebrow and waits for him to just take a paper from the damned box. He grins when he finally does, and reads, "Nipples," before dropping the paper back down and reaching for her.

She shakes her head at him, "Me first," she says as she settles down on his lap again, their intimates touching now, sliding, but she makes sure that he doesn't penetrate her. She runs her hands all over his chest before she leans down and captures one pink nipple in her mouth. She uses her teeth first, grinding them around his nipple, before sucking on the pink tip, making him throw his head back and moan. She knows that nipples are erogenous zones for men too, but she just hasn't realized how much. She alternates between sucking and biting, soothing it with her tongue every time until her ninety seconds was up, and then it is his turn. He moves the cups of her nightie down, until her breasts are exposed to him. She sets the timer, just as he starts peppering kisses against her chest.

He then licks one puckered nipple, flicks his tongue against it, before he closes his mouth around it and sucks, sucks hard, because he knows that is exactly how she wants it. Her fingers tangle in his hair, and she moans, sighs, groans, when he sucks hard on her nipple, moving to its twin to give it the same attention. By the time ninety seconds is over, her nipples are so hard, to the point of pain, and the only way to alleviate it is for him to just fuck her, right then and there.

"Never have I ever fucked a male thief," she says, grinning at him salaciously, because of course, it means that she's going to suck him off, whichever part of him, for another ninety seconds. And she knows he's bound to break, bound to forfeit the game, and it's just exactly what she wants.

Without a word, she reaches for the box and picks a paper, reads it aloud, "Clit or Balls," she says, snorting. Why bother with better words for it, right?

She crawls to him, and pushes at his shoulder until he's lying on his back, and then she pounces on him, without preamble or precaution—just starts sucking his balls in her mouth, alternating between left and right. She's surprised he's lasting this long, she can see it in his eyes, sees the way his eyelids flutter, his breath quicken, knows that he's close to cuming...and maybe that's it, that is why he's not stopping her. So he can come without having to terminate. It's not cheating, not technically, but it gets him off.

She huffs as she licks down one ball, before sucking it in her mouth hard and deep, knowing how much he likes that. He's moaning above her, and he's really, really close, she can tell...

And then the timer beeps, signalling that time is up.

She smirks at him.

Serves him well, to be honest.

He groans and she chuckles, looking at him with smug eyes. She watches as he struggles to sit up and sits back down on the mattress.

"I forfeit," he growls then, before he's tackling her down, lying her on her back. He gives her no time as his mouth immediately finds the pooling wetness between her thighs. He flattens his tongue and runs it through the length of her slit, up towards her aching clit and sucks down on it, hard, making her buck her hips at the unexpected jolt of pleasure that runs through her core.

Her head lolls and her eyes fall to the back of her head when he sucks at her clit again, before he uses his tongue to fuck her, thrusting inside of her, in, out, in, out, until she feels the rising of her climax within her. Her muscles tighten and she doesn't think she can last any longer, only knows that she needs him, needs this, needs to come apart. She needs more, right there, just right there, and she groans aloud when he slants his tongue and hits her g-spot. His hands cups her ass before travelling up to the back of her thighs, lifting it up so that she is more exposed to him, his tongue never once leaving her pussy.

He is a talented one, she'll give him that.

"Yeah, baby, more," she groans, fingers tugging at his hair to bring him closer to her.

She moans when his tongue leaves her and then slides up again, before he sucks on her clit once more, and then stars explode behind her eyes, and so does she. She cums, cums, and cums in his mouth, shivering violently as her orgasm takes a hold of her.

She breathes deeply, trying to regain her equilibrium, feeling him breathing against her sensitive cunt. She tugs on his hair until he looks up at her.

"Fuck me," she orders, legs spreading wider to reinforce her point.

He doesn't need to be told twice, he nods, and then rights himself, aligning their sex with each other, before he pushes in. They both groan simultaneously at the feeling of being one again, and then there's very little time in between as he starts to move inside her, slowly at first, building up his speed until his hips are thrusting faster and faster, his cock driving harder and deeper inside her. She slides her hands up and cups her own breasts, knowing he enjoys watching her touch herself, twisting her nipples between her thumb and forefinger, moaning when the pleasure of her actions combines with one particularly hard thrust of his hips.

She's close now, so fucking close, and she knows he is, too, knows it from the way he throws his head back, his hands gripping her waist tighter as he drives inside her more forcefully. He pumps his length inside of her in just the right way, hitting just the right spot, just to make her beg for  _more_ ,  _Robin, more, please, right there baby,_  and then  _oh!_

She feels her orgasm over take her whole body, coming in waves and lasting forever and ever, as he rides it out, his cock still pumping inside her. He's coming, he tells her so, and with a few more thrusts, a flick of his finger over her clit, a pinch, and then he comes, taking her along with him.

And Jesus, it feels so good. He collapses beside her, the mess of their play all but forgotten now. She runs her fingers through his sideburns, placing a kiss against his damp shoulder.

"You look less tense," he teases, grinning up at her, lazily.

She chuckles, waggling her eyebrows. "I find that our games do that to me," she retorts, making him snort, laughing.

And what a wonderful sound that is.


	14. Chapter 14

Robin fucking Locksley is a fucking tease.

Who knew the thief has it in him? She hadn't, that's for sure. Well, actually she knows that he is, knows he likes teasing her in bed, sometimes find pleasure in making her wait for it, in riling her up to a point, and then making her cum so hard she almost blacks out. So, she knows he's a tease. What she hadn't counted on is the fact that he'll take it a step too far and tease her in front of the  _council_  they have formed (if one can even call it that, considering it consists of an ex princess, a shepherd turned prince, a librarian, a reformed evil queen, some dwarves, a retired wolf, and a thief).

But he has—taken it that far, has been eye-fucking her across the table and licking his lips in a suggestive manner. She's the only one who knows of course, the rest of this stupid council had been as clueless as they usually are about everything, and it's taking everything in Regina not to blast the thief with her magic and knock him off the ground and fuck him senseless, doesn't even care anymore who's looking.

She can't do that, can't even retaliate with looks of her, own even if she wants to because she is too sexually frustrated to even think straight. She tries to focus on something else, anything else but that blasted thief, and for the most part, she's been doing better. However, she still needs to make sure the thief gets a taste of his own medicine, and of course, Regina Mills sure as hell won't just sit there without retaliation—even the verbal kind.

"Why should we trust a thief like you?" she snaps at him when he suggests that he should be there to come with to Rumple's castle. She hadn't wanted that, had suggested Belle should come instead of him, only because she's scared that the dangers that lurked around Rumple's castle would take him from her. It's a selfish notion that she should have known he would shut down as quickly as she makes it, but she needs to protect him, him and Roland. She scoffs at him and turns her nose up. "What are you even doing here?"

The tension between them shifts from flirty and playful to serious, and no one but them knows exactly why. Regina isn't going to back down, and she knows neither will Robin. As much as she would like to make herself believe that whatever they have is nothing but games, she really can't believe that anymore, it's not strictly true. She's been young when she first fell in love, young and naïve, and she'd been useless and unable to fight her mother. But she's not the young girl she used to be, and she will be damned if she's going to stand by and let fate take love away from her once again.

He rolls his eyes, sees through the façade she's putting up. "It appears, milady, that what I'm doing here is saving your ass," is what he says, and she has a momentary flash of memory where he's fondling the very ass he's talking about, but she shakes those thoughts—right now is not the time.

They're making a breakthrough. They finally know where Rumple is, finally know what her wicked bitch of a sister has been keeping him, and now they need his help if they ever want to make it here alive.

This is important.

And though her sex life is also important, it'll have to take a backseat for now.

When Snow tells them with a definitive tone that Robin is coming with them, Regina contemplates her hatred for Snow once more (they've made a breakthrough, too, the two of them, and it's a pity now that Regina wants to fry her on the spot). Regina is only left to glare as her thief looks at her smugly across from her.

**…**

He knows what's been bothering her all day, has in fact, been trying to distract her from it with furtive glances that are meant to tell her he intends to fuck that worry away from her mind, but it only proves to further increase her ire and not decrease her anxiety level. He'd hoped teasing her would distract her enough from worrying about him too much.

They both know he'll come with them to Rumple's palace. Regardless if he knows better how to sneak in (and he does, of course, he's done it before), he'd still have come. And she knows exactly why. They could put up a front all they want, could make the charmings and the rest of the realm believe that they're nothing but sworn enemies, both of them know better.

They both know that this, whatever this is, is more than just fucking, more than just games. What they have is real, and he will do everything in his power to protect her. So although he knows exactly what the queen is doing, telling him he's a thief and not to be trusted (he doesn't buy a word of it, he knows her, knows her heart, and knows she trusts him plenty), if only to dissuade others into letting him go with them because she's scared something would hurt him—he's not going to let her do it. He knows how hot-tempered and how stubborn she can be, she'll always insist she doesn't need help, and she's right most of the time, but he also knows how little value she places on her own life. She's not very evil in that regard, not very evil after all if she'll place everybody's life before hers, to somehow atone for her past mistakes—no matter how misguided, and he's not going to sit in her castle and fiddle with his thumbs and wait. He's going to protect her, too, because as much as she doesn't think it, he has as much to lose if he loses her.

He watches her as the meeting wraps up and they all agree to meet there before the evening settles so they could all go to Rumple's castle. Her face is sour and her lips pursed, but she nods nevertheless, and then stalks out of there before anyone else could say more.

The door slams on her way out, and everyone winces, with Grumpy muttering something under his breath about the Queen being mercurial and grumpy. It takes everything in Robin not to snap at the dwarf and tell him that it seems like the pot calling the kettle black, and he instead focuses his energy in going after the Queen.

With a quick explanation that he wants to spend time with his son before they head out for the night, he walks out after the Queen. And if anyone has any suspicion about where he is really going, not one of them ever says a word.

**..**

It is his son, though, that leads him to the Queen. Or at least, the sound of his son's laughter as he cross the courtyard does. He'd been in desperate search for the Queen when he crossed the yards and heard his son's laughter. Wanting to see his son, too, before he continued his search, he went to him and found him in the arms of the same woman he's looking for, laughing as she tickled him. There is a smile on her face as she holds the boy in her arms. Where trepidation had once been now resides comfort and a beautiful smile, when she holds his son.

"Papa!" Roland yells happily, and he hops off Regina's lap to run over to him.

Robin crouches down and catches his son in a hug, laughing when the boy latches his tiny arms around his neck. He places a kiss against his soft curls and smiles at him. "Are you enjoying yourself, my boy?"

"Yes!" he exclaims, happily, looking back at Regina. "Majesty is spending time with me!"

What a lucky boy his son is then, for the Queen to willingly spend time with him while she seems like she only wants to murder his father.

"Well, that's just kind of the Queen to do so, isn't it?" he asks, looking at Regina who scowls at him further. Roland nods vigorously in his arms, and then squirms to be put down. Robin does so and watches as he runs back to Regina.

"Thanks Majesty!" he says, throwing his arms around Regina who holds him closer to her, kissing his soft curls like Robin himself had done before.

"It's my pleasure, Roland," she tells him honestly, and though Robin sees a lingering sadness in her eyes—as she no doubt thinks about her own son—it's much lighter now than it once had been.

"Papa, I'm hungry," Roland announces, still in the Queen's arms—but not for long as he hops down again, ever so active. He is a flurry of energy that brightens up their days, and Robin would do just about anything to keep him as happy and as loved as he is now. "I'm going to go find Uncle John."

And then he's off before either he or Regina could warn him to be careful, leaving them both there in the courtyard—alone.

Regina takes a second before she snaps back into whatever mood she's been in before spending time with Roland.

"Regina," he begins, plaintively, taking the few steps that separates them in a few, quick strides. He's not going to let them go to this mission mad at each other. "Look—,"

She holds her hand up, "Save it," she says before disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

"Shit," Robin mutters as the Queen disappears before his very eyes.

**…**

It takes only three minutes before Robin is barging into her quarters, looking angry. He throws her door open and slams it shut loud enough that the bottles on her vanity table rattles from the force.

She glares at him, then, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She's not without anger of her own. Her sexual frustrations aside, she's been very frustrated with him and his total inability to take a hint. She wants to keep him safe, and to do that she needs him to be here in the castle, not traipsing with them to find the unknown. That's as plain and as simple as it can get.

"Stop being a child, Regina," he mutters when he takes her in, and he's crossing the threshold until he's standing in front of her, looking as angry as all hell. "You have to face it, I'm coming with you."

She doesn't want him on the mission, doesn't want him risking his life more than already he does, because she knows exactly why he wants to come to this mission with them, and she does not approve. She knows he's doing it to protect her, and she doesn't need his protection. Further than that, she really has no interest in him putting himself in danger for her.

"I don't want you to!" she exclaims as she throws her hands up in the air and then turns her back to him. She starts pacing and mutters about the dangers, all of which she's sure is falling on deaf ears.

He's Robin fucking Hood, adventure is his middle name.

He grabs her elbow then, and forces her to stay still, cupping her jaws and making her look at him. "I don't care how dangerous, I'm not going to let you go through this alone."

She sighs. "I'm not," she reasons with him. It's the truth. She has a band of idiots to go with her. "The charmings and Belle will be with me."

"And they're a band of idiots," he tells her, and she'd laugh at him, at how alike they think if she isn't so scared for him. "I'm not letting them be the ones to have your back. I have zero trust in their abilities to protect you if need be—except, maybe Charming, but then I don't trust him at all with you, either."

She knows that, knows that it's exactly why he's insisting to go with them, but she can't let him. "What about Roland?" she asks him then, begging him to think of the dimpled little hobbit, if not her.

"He'll be in very capable hands, don't you worry," he assures her. And though it does a good job of reassuring her, it's not what she wants from him. "We'll be fine. We'll have each other's back. I know I'd feel better if I got your back than those morons, and that  _you_  got mine."

That's true.

But she can't help whispering: "I'm scared, Robin," to him anyway, only because it's the truth, and she really cannot hide from him even if she wants to.

"I am too," he admits before he leans down to kiss her softly. "I'm scared for you, for me, for Roland, for all of us, but mostly for you." He pulls her close and she tucks her nose against the crook of his neck, letting him envelope her in his warmth. "It's pretty obvious to all of us why your sister is doing this, and who her target is. I can't risk losing you, Regina. I love you."

It's at the tip of her tongue—to say it, to tell him she feels it, too. But she's scared. She's scared that if she says the words to him now, it might be the last time she'll tell him. She's loved someone before, told them, and then the next thing she knows he's fallen to the ground, his beautiful, wonderful heart nothing but mere ashes falling down the ground, sliding through the palms of her own mother.

She shakes the images away and instead focuses on Robin, focuses on what she has now—and this, this is here, and this is now. And she needs him to remind her of that.

"Show me, Robin," she pleads to him, not caring one bit that she sounds needy. Unlike everybody else in her life—dead or alive—she knows Robin would never use that against her. "Show me how much you love me."

"Gladly, my love," he whispers, before he's sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to the bed. He lays her down gently, as if she's a treasure, and for once, right now she feels like the one.

His eyes are on her and he's looking at her with so much reverence, like she's so important, like he can't stand to lose her, and she believes it, for once in her life, she believes that there's someone, finally someone, who can't ever stand to lose her.

"I love you, Regina," he murmurs as he hovers over her, covering her entire body with his entire length. His hands are on either side of her head, and he's holding himself up as he stretches on top of her. She spreads her legs wide and plants her feet firmly on the bed, welcoming her between them. His hard length brushes against her core, making her cry out, and he swallows her moans of pleasure as he kisses her hard.

Her arms wound around his neck and she pulls him close to her, closer, until they are one breath. She uses magic to rid them of their clothes, and revels in the soft moan of relief that Robin makes when they are both blessedly naked.

He pulls back to stare at her, sweeps his eyes from her head to the very tips of her toes, and every part his eyes leave, his hand soon follow, and every nerve-ending that Regina has—even the ones she doesn't know exists—tingles, comes alive at the way he so fondly looks at her.

He murmurs once more how absolutely breathtaking she is, how stunning in every way, especially this way, and how much he loves her. It takes everything in her not to flip them over and show  _him_ the words she cannot say—show him exactly how much  _she_  loves  _him_  even when she cannot say it.

He knows though, she knows that he knows even when she can't say it—and he has to, because whatever they have, whatever this is, this love between them—it's too intense and too passionate for him not to know. She's never felt anything like this in her life, has never loved anyone quite like this—not even Daniel, and she'd loved him something fierce.

"I love you," he whispers again as he presses a soft kiss on her lips and then trails a series of kisses down her chin, jaw, down the column of her throat, to her soft breasts. He licks at one hardened nipple, playing, nipping before he takes it in his mouth and sucks, sucks hard making her back arch off the bed as her arms hold his head closer to her tits.

She loves this, loves him, and good god, she's scared to lose him.

"Robin," she mutters as he moves from one breast to another, nipping and sucking at her nipple like he'd had the other one. She's trembling now, wet heat pooling between her legs and dripping down the cover. She aches, she aches so much and he's the only one who can relieve her, and she needs him, needs him  _now._ "Baby, please, fuck me."

He murmurs an ' _are you sure'_  against her flesh, as his hands slither down her sides to where she needs him the most. She nods frantically, and he seems satisfied with that and the wetness he's found, because he slips one finger, and then two, inside of her and pumps in and out lazily.

As good as that feels—that's not what she wants, and she half whines, half moans when he angles his fingers just that they hit that sweet spot inside her.

"Robin, please!" she mutters, frustrated, because she wants his cock, wants him to fuck her with it, and not his fingers, no matter how good and nimble they are. She needs  _him!_

He doesn't make her ask again, must have sensed the urgency in her voice because he slips into her, groaning at the sensation. They are finally, finally one, and it's so good, so fucking good, that she almost comes upon entry.

She doesn't though, only rewards him with a spasm, her muscles tightening around his cock, that has  _him_ almost coming. He cries out, begs her to hold still for a moment so he can regroup.

Once he seems sure he's not about to spurt his hot come inside her prematurely, he starts moving, slow and gentle at first—loving, and it's wonderful, beautiful, and at the back of Regina's mind she thinks she's never been made love to this way. When he reaches down to fondle her clit, she cums with a loud moan, enough to wake the dead.

He's not come yet, though, and she knows what he wants, what he needs, knows he needs to nail her into the bed right and proper, and she finds that though she likes slow and gentle, she loves it the hard way, too, and so she reaches up to touch the skin where his leg and hips meet, urging him to fuck her the way he wants to, the way he seems to desperately need to.

He takes the hint and hikes her legs up, pushes both down her chest and then fucks into her wet cunt greedily, his pace hard and fast, made to make both of them cum, she's sure. It's working, though, and when he thrusts into her sharply, his thumb and forefinger finding her clit and pinching, they both come hard, both of them yelling out each other's name.

He falls down her chest, softly and lightly so that he won't crush her, though she does love his weight on her. He's still inside her, softening, and she moans lightly when he slides out. He looks at her then, eyes filled with love, and Regina can't help it, can no longer hold back.

"Robin, I love you too," is all she says.

Robin rewards her with a smile and eyes glassy with tears and heavy with love, and though still afraid, Regina believes they'll actually make it through.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

She is still pissed at him. He sees it in the way her shoulders square when she turns her back, and that stubborn set of her jaw when he tells them that he's ready to go, having made sure that Roland is safely tucked away in his bedrooms, his best men taking turns in guarding his door. He sees the way her mouth quirks to the side and sees the way she rolls her eyes as though he's greatly inconvenienced them. He knows it's an act, she had been right there with him by Roland's bedroom door, placing a protective spell on it (along with the inside and all of the windows), to only allow John, Tuck, and Allan to come inside.

She'd said that she'd have gone and given the Princess Snow the same permission, but the pregnant monarch had insisted to go along, to her increased ire.

She would never allow anyone to say it to her face, and she would never allow herself to believe it, but she cares, she cares so much, his Regina, and it makes him only love her more. But even more, it makes him worry about her, because he is not entirely sure what she would sacrifice just for these people, or for him (though he knows it, her life, that's what, because he knows she still blames herself for whatever fresh hell her sister is about to put them through).

He watches her now, as she walks to Rumple's castle, sashaying inside like she owns the place, and it does not escape him that she's done this before—sashay here and talk to the Dark One, after all, she had been once his student, and she seems to know the place like the back of her hand.

What she does not know, however, are the traps in this stupid castle, designed for intruders—which she had never been in this place. He is under the impression that she had an open invitation to come barging in, despite the Dark one himself. So when Robin sees his girlfriend? Partner? Er—well, Regina, when he sees Regina reach out to open the door that no doubt will lead her to the deeper part of the castle, as well take out her hand and blow her into smithereens without thinking about it, he acts fast. He takes his bow and pulls the string back faster than he ever has, and the arrow wheezes past her shoulder, right to the door, which blows and explodes into flames.

She turns to him, her capes flowing about her, and she's every bit the Queen that she is, down to the displeased frown on her lips and the very, very angry set of her brows.

"That arrow almost took off my head," she tells him in a tone that merits no room for doubt: she's not entirely happy about this, if at all. And he will get it later.

He fights her with the calm he barely feels, only lets sarcasm flow from his tongue in small, very small, drops. "And that door, almost took of your arm," he tells her,  _and your whole body,_  he thinks but doesn't say. Instead, he says, "Where I come from, a simple thank you would suffice."

She harrumphs, and turns her icy glare to him ten fold. "Where you come from, people bathe in the rivers and use pinecone for money," she snaps, and he would've laughed out loud at the statement. Damn, she's good. But he knows it would only irritate her further. So he only looks at her, unbothered by the blatant display of annoyance in her face.

Well.

It takes a while, but they do find the dark one. He's as helpful as ever, of course, and spins them into madness themselves, when instead of answering, he gives them another riddle to solve. Of course, no matter how much he hates to admit it, his traveling companions do have brains, as they manage to come to the conclusion that it's Glinda the good the imp is talking about, and that she's somewhere in the woods—god knows how that happened.

They ruminate, all of them, and think of who should go to the edge of the Dark Forest. He volunteers, naturally, he's the best tracker in this bunch of ragtags and misfits, anyway, but Regina vetoes that almost as quickly as he springs it.

She's already decided that she's going along, damn it to hell, of course, and the princess and the prince have both decided that this is to be their mission, because it's their people and their kid. Regina tells them, almost dismissively, that a large party travelling and traversing down the Edge of the Dark Forest does not at all seem inconspicuous, and they have all the members they need for this mini search party.

She doesn't even let him say anything, as only a second later, she's directing Snow and David to go one way, and the rest of the group another way. She's determined and nonplussed by the indignation that comes from him about this ridiculous idea.

Why does she think that she's safe without numbers?

Better conspicuous than risk her getting hurt because as much as he respects the prince and the princess, they'd be pretty much useless at helping and saving Regina if she needs it. She doesn't allow him to argue though, and only pulls him to the side while the others are busy to place a kiss against his lips. It's long, passionate, and almost bruising in its intensity, but it's sweet and longing too, and he holds on to her, pulls her closer into his embrace, tighter, even tighter when she snakes her arms around his neck.

"I love you, Robin," she murmurs against his lips, and it's almost a shock to him everytime he hears her say it. It fills him to the brim with love for her, and gives him hope.

"You come back to me, Regina," he tells her without uncertainty. "You come back to me and our son.." She stiffens in his arms, and he almost curses himself for saying it aloud, that he's been thinking of Roland as theirs, and is hoping that once he meets her Henry, he'd be given a chance to love him as much as a father would, that Regina would allow him.

He is about to take it back, when she smiles—a dazzling one that would and could almost blind him, if only it doesn't seem like such a good sign.

"I'll come back to you and Roland, Robin," she promises. "After all, I promised our son I will."

He smiles at her then, mirrors the same blinding smile she has on her lips, and it's a moment—that one moment he knows he will look back to when times get rough and he needs something to pull him through. He tucks it in his memories and files it away for later, and then he's kissing her once more and pulling her close, before sliding his hands from her shoulder to her hands, holding on tight and squeezing. He kisses her forehead and wishes her goodluck one more time, before they part.

…

Regina chews on her lips as she watches Snow and David talk.

It's a hard decision, she knows, knows it all too well, because she has been her before, and though she might have hated them in the past, had been her mortal enemy for so long, she still doesn't wish this on them…especially not now.

She watches Snow's eyes fill with tears as she discusses their next plan of action with Charming. Dread fills her, the same way it has when the two of them came out of the damn door and frantically explained to her that they needed Emma, the savior.

Of course, they do, that's what she is for, after all, but there is one hitch to that plan, and that Emma is in the Land without Magic with Henry, and how are they going to make it there?

The solution had been simple for the uncharmings, but the process isn't so for Regina.

Naturally, the only way is the  _dark curse_.

And yes, it's simple. One plus one equals two kinda simple, really. The thing is they need to sacrifice someone, someone they love the most to enact the curse, which puts her out of the running, because to Snow, the one she loves most is Henry, and she is not about to correct her if it means not harming Robin and Roland. In some way, anyway, it's the truth. As much as she loves Robin, she loves Henry in a different way, and Roland…well, she loves Roland equally, but she's not about to sacrifice him like some lamb. She's going to put her foot down on that.

So, it had been the two of them, thing 1 and thing 2, who will be casting the curse. Though, neither of them really could decide on  _who_  will.

In the end, it is Snow who will cast the curse, and Charming will sacrifice himself. It's noble of him, truly, it is, and Regina cannot find it in herself to say anything—not even a scathing comment, which she never has a short supply of when it comes to those two.

She almost closes her eyes when she reaches for Charming's heart and pulls it out his chest. He falls to the floor with a thud, and in the next second, Snow is holding him against her chest, causing a tear to drop from her eyelid.

It's a whirlwind after that, Zelena comes swooping in, looking ridiculous in her boomstick and throws something inside the cauldron, and then Snow has this brilliant idea of splitting her heart to save Charming, which works—surprisingly, and Regina feels herself reeling, like she's not sure what's next, and it's true she doesn't.

So she does the one thing she knows best: she runs, runs into the arms of the very same man who can make it all better.

She finds him in Roland's quarters, rocking their son back and forth, in what seems to be a soothing manner. The boy is looking at his father with wide eyes, and they're wet with tears, as Robin tries to calm him.

"Robin? Roland?" she says in a whisper, almost afraid of breaking the moment, but she needs them, now more than ever. They both look up at her, and then Roland is squirming, wanting to be put down. When Robin puts him down, Roland runs straight to her, and she catches him, lifting him in her arms and cuddling.

"Majesty, I'm scared," he tells her, and she knows that, of course, she is too.

"I know baby," she tells him as she rocks him back and forth. Robin stands and walks over to them. He pulls her close and drops kisses against her hair.

It seems like he knows exactly what she needs right now, and that's him. Right now, all she needs is him.

"We'll be okay," he tells her as he leads them to the bed. Once seated, he pulls his family close, and Regina cuddles further into him, wanting to wrap herself around the safety he offers. "I love you, okay?"

She nods and looks up at him as she cards her fingers through Roland's curls. "I love you too," she murmurs as he drops a kiss against her lips.

They're still kissing, holding on to their son, when the green smoke engulfed them.

Regina has her eyes closed, praying, hoping that no matter what, nothing goes wrong.

When she opens her eyes, she's alone in bed. And when she looks around, surprise and dread fills her.

She is back in Storybrooke, only she doesn't remember how.

**Fin**

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to defend myself over any of my fics ever again so if you didnt like this the first time around, you arent going to like it this time either so don't read it and complain to me about it. If you liked it or still like it, leave me some kudos! 


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